The Coming Darkness
by Knight Writer Thundercat
Summary: New Thundera Colony is thriving under Lion-O's reign and his people are hopeful for the future. But the prophecy of the Guyver shows chilling signs of coming true. Both Lion-O and Sho must discover the true extents of their power as an old foe gains new might and a far older foe begins to stir.
1. Weddings and Reckonings

ThunderCats

Bio-Booster Armor Guyver

The Coming Darkness

"Why does this have to be so uncomfortable?" Lion-O asked, tugging at the sapphire robe. It enveloped him from shoulders to toes, his crown as king in place upon his head. He studied himself in the full-length mirror, resplendent in a blue ceremonial robe. His right arm was bare up to the elbow.

"It's the way with formal wear," Claudis said with a chuckle. "The least often one has to wear something, the more uncomfortable it must be." He, Lion-O, Tygra, Panthro, WilyKat, Bengali, Torr, and Snarf were all gathered in Lion-O and Cheetara's bedchamber. The King of New Thundera Colony stood before a full-length mirror, studying his reflection.

"Your wedding day," Panthro said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Never saw the bride comin', though."

"She used to babysit you," Tygra added with a grin.

"I know," Lion-O replied. "Funny how life works out."

"Just wait until the pregnancy really gets underway," Bengali said with a sympathetic shake of his head. "I don't envy you that."

"Oh?"

"Pumyra was a holy terror," he went on. "Some nights, it was safer to sleep on the couch."

"She was THAT moody?" Lion-O asked.

"Pregnancy has a way of strangely altering a woman's hormones," Tygra offered in explanation.

"In layman's terms," Bengali said, "You're in for one hell of a roller coaster ride, Your Highness."

"I remember your mother when she was carrying you," Claudis said. "Only the gods know how I lived through that."

"It's not that bad, right?"

"Take it from me," Bengali said. "Her moods are gonna go from one extreme to the other. One minute, she can't keep her hands off you. The next, she's ready to plant a foot in your ass. But," he went on, "when that baby's born... It's all worth it. You look into that tiny face and all the crap you dealt with doesn't mean anything."

"Kyranna's been all over me lately," Torr said. "Man, she's wearin' me out!"

"Isn't it a bad idea to do that?"

"Not necessarily, M'lord," Siberias said as he entered the room. "You can still have sex for quite a while. You just have to be more careful about it as the pregnancy continues."

"Um..."

"Oh, stop it. I'm a physician," he said with a grin. "This kind of talk doesn't embarrass me in the slightest."

"I always wanted to see this day," Snarf said, near tears.

"As have I," Claudis added. "Can you all excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course," Panthro said. One by one, the rest filed out until they were alone.

"I am so proud of you, my son," Claudis said, his sightless eyes stinging with tears. "Lion-O, I never thought I would live to see you take a bride. Much less Cheetara!"

"Strange how things work out, Father," he said.

"One can never predict fate," Claudis agreed. He hated himself for saying that, he'd played a large part in determining the fate of his own son.

"I'm just glad you're here," Lion-O said before embracing him. Claudis returned it, wondering how he'd tell his own son what he'd done.

"Laheela, you were right," Cheetara said as she slid the gossamer panties up her legs. "Fahd is a WIZARD at making these!"

"I told you so," Laheela said as the garment slid over the Cheetah's buttocks. The fabric was incredibly smooth against her most private regions, yet hugged them very softly. "You see why so many women buy from that shop?"

"Consider me another customer."

"You might have to be a bit discreet in your orders," Myrlha said as she brought the brasiere over. "Try tends to freak out when dealing with Nobility types."

"Fahd's the one who makes the clothes," Kyranna said. Her stomach was just beginning to show as her and Torr's baby grew within her.

"True, but Try is awful high-strung," Laheela said as she brought the bra over and snapped it into place.

"Why is that?" Cheetara asked.

"Try... Well..." Myrlha began. "He had it rough."

"I see." Cheetara well knew that rape was not a crime inflicted exclusively on women. Her heart went out to that young man as she turned to the garment stand on which her simple white dress rested. As was traditional, the left sleeve was missing. As was also traditional, the royal bride and groom were expressly forbidden to see each other until the ceremony. Again in accordance to tradition, Lion-O was tended to by the men with her by the women. Cheetara had never understood the stylized ritual of a king taking a queen at his side.

"You can't even really see it yet," WilyKit said, running her had across Cheetara's stomach.

"UKLP!"

"You okay?" Myrlha asked of Kyranna, who sat hunched over.

"I'm fine," she said. "This morning sickness is the worst."

"Just to let you know," Pumyra said as she sat Cheetara down.

"It's all downhill from here?" she asked.

"I wouldn't say that," she said as she reached for the sheer hosiery. Pumyra eased the fabric over Cheetara's leg, sliding it over the ankle and up to mid-thigh. "It's far too wild a ride."

"I don't get it," WilyKit said, "why is this so, I don't know, so ritualistic?"

"Traditions are important, young one," Jagara said, having come out of her strange hidey-hole for the ceremony. "They keep us in touch with who we are as a people. But, traditions are known to change, and this has changed considerably since the early days of the Unification."

"How so?" Cheetara asked while Pumyra slid the other stocking on. She imagined Lion-O being dressed by the other men, and banished it outright. She did not need to burst into hysterics right now.

"All that has remained is the food and keeping the king and future queen apart, as well as the ceremony itself. The garbing of the two... Let's say it was much simpler then."

"Your point?" Laheela asked with an arched eyebrow.

"A bride and groom should hide nothing from each other," Jagara began, "and this was once symbolized by the two of them undergoing the ceremony in the nude."

"ThunderCats used to walk about naked in the Lair all the time," Cheetara said.

"Yes, but the preparations for each required a ceremonial bathing in order to cleanse the mind, body, and soul of both." Silence reigned for several long seconds as each processed what that exactly meant.

"You're kidding," Cheetara said flatly.

"No. Not at all. Generations of kings and their queens were bathed by their attendants prior to a royal wedding."

"That's... really weird..." Laheela said lamely.

"I'm glad we got past that part," Cheetara said as she rose to don her dress.

"As am I," Jagara said, "as well as the consummation of the wedding requiring witnesses." Cheetara nearly stumbled at that.

"WHAT?!" The other women in the room beheld Jagara as though she had grown a third eye.

"We didn't always possess advanced science," she began, "and the parentage of the successor to the throne could not be in doubt. However, only the royal couple endured such scrutiny."

"Thank Jaga," Cheetara said, "that THAT part of the ceremony is well and truly in the past!" The rest nodded in agreement.

Lisker hovered far above the estate which Gelroz called home. He had come here with no information and no plan, and hated making things up on the fly. But, he couldn't exactly call on the CIA or the DIA. As if he could have done so in his days as a Marine in Force Recon. The mission, he'd told himself, was to gather intel.

He'd gotten all he'd needed that morning.

Half a mile to the north was a vein rich in gold, which had already been mined. All the human readings his sensor medals had detected were of the adult variety, and what he saw at Chateau Gelroz confirmed his suspicions. The Tabbott kept the kids as his own personal servants. So long as the adults toed the line, the kids stayed safe.

The house itself had aspirations to an ancient plantation manor. The front facade was decorated with pillars supporting an ornate upper balcony. The stone was grey, unpolished. This Gelroz, it seemed, was either working his way up or had little to no sene of aesthetic design. On the western end of the grounds were shacks which housed the slaves when they were not laboring.

Or, so it all seemed.

Lisker scanned again, just to be sure. Twenty humans, one Tabbott, and fifteen Trollogs. Not hard to determine who the bad guys were, there. The mine had been a slightly different story, with thirty Trollogs and nearly one hundred humans. The dicrepancy between the number of human adults and children had a few explanations, but Lisker didn't bother himself with them. He had power to spare, but resources to make a poor man weep.

A bell tower, rather incongrous with the overall style of the manor, sailed above the roof. To summon them all somewhere? Likely. There, in the rear courtyard of the manor, was a patch of land beaten to mere dirt.

I know all I'm gonna learn, he thought, knowing it wasn't strictly true but thinking it anyway.

Gelroz sat at the head of the elongated table. Meant to host dozens, the other chairs sat empty at present. That would one day change. He dug his fork into a slice of apple, his favorite, as he contemplated the moves he'd make next.

Legitimate business appealed to him. His last foray into that field had flopped, costing him much of his family's fortune. However, the slave trade had made a good portion of that back. What was better than workers you didn't have to pay? Discovering the Clutch had been his crowning moment. Yes, they were brutal, but they had gotten results. Until their new leader had arrived.

Gelroz chewed a slice of apple. The Clutch had been useful, but he hadn't kidded himself about keeping them in his employ forever. The proceeds from the gold mine had given him options. He could buy into a promising business, and reap THEIR profits. Keeping people as slaves was passe', he thought. With the gold that had been mined, he was flush with assets again.

Another slice of apple, and his thirst rose again.

"BOY!" he shouted. The young boy kneeling in the corner jerked before shooting to his feet. THAT one would fetch a nice price. "Get me more coffee!"

"At once, Master Gelroz," he said before scampering over and taking the cup.

"Hi," Lisker said companionably as he set down in front of the two Trollogs which guarded the door. Two more, he knew, were on the other side. "I'm here to see Gelroz." Their eyes bulged and jaws dropped at the sight of him. "I suggest you open the door." This he said in a far colder voice. "Now."

"No one..." The Trollog on the left got no farther. The one on the right made even less progress as he grabbed them by the sides of their heads and smashed them together with a thick-sounding crunch. The guards went down in a heap, dead. Lisker wasted no time in smashing the front doors open with a front kick which sent the thick oaken barriers flying inward to smash into the two guards along the wall. They were dazed when he dashed in, dead once he whirled and fired his head beam into their skulls. The noise of approaching guards reached him long before any of them could arrive.

The children - all filthy and scared out of their wits - stared at him in open-mouthed shock. He felt a twinge of regret at that, wishing that kids didn't have to see what was about to happen. The voice of his father chimed in from the past with one of the man's more favored aphorisims: "Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and tell me which fills up first".

The foyer was massive, though done in entirely drab grey. Several pillars lined the central floorspace with a grand staircase situated in the center to the upper balcony. Two lesser staircases curved along the outer walls to the edges. Lisker counted five children, one on each staircase and two cleaning the columns. Just coming into view were the remaining guard force.

Lisker wasted no time, firing on the three which were headed for the central stairs. They fell without a sound. The children remained frozen, trembling at the sight of the carnage. One Trollog yanked open the door which he knew Gelroz and another human were behind. The rest charged down the smaller staircases.

He fired the Head Beam two more times, before either of those could get near the kids, then leapt up to the upper balcony. So far, things were going smoothly. Any soldier would find cause to worry about that.

"SIR!" The Trollog bellowed on bursting in on his breakfast.

"What is it?! What's going on out there?" The Trollog looked over his shoulder, blanched, and the expression on his face chilled Gelroz's blood before the first word was spoken.

"THEY"RE DEAD!" he shouted. "DEAD!"

"STOP THEM, YOU FOOL!" Gelroz demanded. He noticed the boy trying to crawl under the table as he slammed the door.

Lisker glared at the Trollog, the last of the house guards, as he stomped closer. "You gotta be kidding me," he said before turning tail and charging toward one of the secondary stair cases. Lisker paused, considering shooting him, when the decision was taken out of his hands.

The Trollog turned, his feet tangling just before he tumbled down the steps to the tune of many bones snapping.

"You," he said, pointing at the shivering girl on the stairs the Trollog had fallen down to his death. "The bell up top is to call everyone, right?" She nodded jerkily. "Wanna do me a favor, sweetie?" he asked, his voice much more gentle. "Ring the bell." She nodded before darting up the stairs to the highest level.

Sho stood in the Royal Hall, casting glances at Seres Mandora on the opposite side of the wine-colored carpet. They were the only guests at this wedding. True, it had been an honor, but in the empty expanse of the hall, the sight of her triggered strange questions in the depths of his mind. Memories began to stir. Memories that, he knew, were not his own.

Mandora was from another planet, yet was human. Humans had never, not once, travelled interstellar. More strange memories flared like flashbulbs in his mind, of him floating in a liquid environment, his control medal coming apart...

Sho gasped, realizing what had happened. The memories were from the Relic, the Iseki, the ship of the Advents. No, he corrected himself, the Uranus. The ones who... Who had created humans on this planet. Sho's spine turned to ice at that. Yes, he remembered. The chill spread to his heart. They had created humans to be the final step toward Zoanoids. From the memories he'd inhereted from the Relic, they had left after a...

He knew. The Uranus had become curious as to how a human would react to their armor. The terrifying results forced them to leave and try to destroy the planet. Something had thwarted their attempt, what he could not recall, but who was to say they hadn't set up shop somewhere else? They had to have learned from that mistake.

How many worlds, Sho thought, bear the seed of the Uranus? Could Shiner and his crew be one of the exceptions? How else could another planet develop a species so similar to mine WITHOUT their interference?

"Sho?" Mandora asked. "What's wrong?"

"Think I'm coming down with something." The response sounded lame even to him. She eyed him as though she knew he was lying, yet said nothing. Had the Uranus... he thought. Is it possible...?

Had they repeated their experiments on other worlds? Having learned their lesson regarding humans and their own armor on Earth , did they try again elsewhere? The bells began to ring, signalling the start of the wedding ceremony.

Lisker swung a free chair around with his foot, sitting on it and planting Gelroz onto the seat in front of him.

"What ARE you?" he asked in a wheeze of fright. The Tabbot's eyes bulged, his normally pink skin the color of old milk. Lisker considered several options before responding.

"Someone who's fed up with your shit," he snarled in reply.

"What?"

"I know you hired the Clutch." His sensor medals registered an enormous leap in Gelroz's heartrate. "They tried to choke off a town. I stopped them. Now, I'm here for you."

"DON'T KILL ME!" Gelroz wailed. Lisker chuckled at that. He had far worse plans for the Tabbot slave dealer. The bell above the manor rang out, clear as crystal.

The chimes sounded a scant second before the doors to the Royal Hall opened. Tygra marched slowly forward, bearing in his hands a cord of rope interwoven with gold. Sho had little experience with Thunderian weddings, but knew that on their homeworld another metal would have been used. He stood ramrod straight until Tygra reached his place just before the pedestal which now housed two thrones.

The chimes changed tone, and he dropped to one knee in time with Mandora. Lion-O entered, surrounded by his entourage. Another slow march took place, each man stepping in time to the bell, everyone stone silent. Royal weddings, he'd been told, were silent affairs aside from the one officiating them.

Thank God, he thought, MY wedding won't be like this. Sho pictured his marriage to Myrlha, remembering the simple ceremony for Bengali and Pumyra. Lion-O reached his place before Tygra, the men accompanying him filing off to stand at intervals to the left and right of the wine-colored carpet. The tone of the chimes changed again just before Cheetara appeared in the entrance. She strode gracefully up the ailse, followed by the women who bore the title of ThunderCat. They all marched in time, and Sho caught Myrlha's eye for a brief moment before they passed. Cheetara stood next to Lion-O. The wide spaces between the men were occupied by the women. Tygra began to speak.

Lisker walked out to the space were the adult slaves had gathered. He held a bound Gelroz in one hand as he surveyed the gathered multitude. All were staring in shock. The Trollogs were nervously fingering their weapons. Behind him, the children were gathering. Tension was tight in the air.

"Trollogs," he began, having set the sonic buster on his face for maximum voice projection, "drop your weapons, leave now, and no harm will come to you. By my hands, at least." Lisker saw children and adults both fidget, wishing to be re-united. He saw the remaining Trollogs stare at the piled bodies of Gelroz' retainer force. "I don't want to kill any more of you, but I will if I have to." The Trollogs got the hint, lowering weapons and turning to leave.

"I PAY YOU TO PROTECT ME!" Gelroz wailed petulantly. The Trollogs pretended not to hear as they walked, then ran, in every direction that did not lead towards Lisker.

"Well, then," Lisker went on. He knew this next part would be the most important. "Ladies and gentlemen, you are now all free." He waited for a moment for that to sink in.

"To do what?" a man in the crowd bellowed. "Free to die?! It's WINTER!"

"You all see this house behind me?" Lisker asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I know you all hate this place, but it's shelter. Inside is food and treasure for you all to rebuild your homes. Kinda fitting, since the thugs Gelroz hired stole it from you all in the first place." He was met with murmurs of agreement.

Lion-O and Cheetara stood side-by-side, their bare arms facing each other. Tygra stretched out the length of rope in his hands.

"Two souls," he began, winding the braided cord about their wrists as their fingers joined, "brought together in matrimony. By this cord, are you bound to each other." Another loop. "Each twist a symbol of your love." Which was not always part of the picture. "Of your bond."

All remained silent as Tygra wrapped the ceremonial cord.

"Two, united as one," he intoned. "Two hearts, two souls. With the knotting of this cord," at that, Tygra tied a loose knot, "I proclaim these two as one. King and Queen." Lion-O and Cheetara faced each other, the cord binding them having more than enough slack, and kissed. Thunderous applause threatened to tear the roof off as the newlyweds shared their matrimonial kiss. The dam broke at that moment, all present releasing cheers.

"It is my pleasure to introduce," Tygra began, "the bride of our king. LONG MAY THEY REIGN!"

The cheer within the Royal Hall was deafening.

"So, what about him?!" shrieked a woman who was clad in tatters. Her feet were bare and as calloused as her hands from toiling in the nearby mine for gold. Like the rest, she was covered in grime to the point that her actual skin tone was nearly impossible to determine and the oily ropes of black hair hung about her wild-eyed face. She appeared borderline derranged. Fury smoldered in the eyes of adults who cradled their children, even hotter in many of those who did not.

Please, Lisker prayed to any kind-hearted diety, let this go where I think it is!

"And what about those of us the fucker sold?!" a man roared. The murmur of the crowd quickly built to a low roar, and Lisker felt the situation spiralling out of control.

"Listen!" he shouted as the list of complaints against Gelroz grew both in length and volume. They ignored him utterly until he traced a line in the hardpacked dirt before them with the head beam. Silence crashed on the assembled multitude. "As for the ones he sold, there's nothing I can do. All I can do is help those of you still here."

"We thank ya kindly," another woman said, a child in each arm. Lisker tried, and failed, not to be reminded of "The Grapes of Wrath". This was indeed a sorry enough lot for that book.

"I lost my sons when that fucker's thugs sacked my town!" the wild-eyed woman shouted.

"I didn't kill them!" Gelroz shouted indignantly.

"YOU HIRED THE GODDAMN MURDERERS WHO DID!" she bellowed, to the agreement of, well, everyone.

"She's got a point," Lisker said, bringing Gelroz up to his face. "You've racked up a load of debt to these people." Gelroz's jaw dropped open, his eyes bright lanterns of terror. Lisker felt the satisfaction take root in his gut, spreading its roots and blossoming in his heart.

"You wouldn't..." Gelroz croaked. The anticipation built in the assembly of humans, a presence that was not all together pleasant. Then, low enough for only Gelroz to hear, "Sucks to be you, piggy." Without futher preamble, he casually tossed Gelroz. The Tabbott spun four times before landing at the feet of the wild-eyed woman, an added bit of cruelty toward the former slave trader. To the assembled humans: "Have fun with that." Lisker activated the gravity controller, rocketing into the sky as the screams first began.

God, but that felt GOOD! he mentally cheered as he raced back toward Watershed. Lisker kept his sensor medals dormant. Knowing he'd had a part in seeing justice done was enough. Scanning the gory details would make him a monster. Just as with what may, or may not, have happened to Mezzo after his departure from Watershed, he felt no need to know.

In the courtyard of Cat's Lair, most of the residents of the colony had gathered to witness the emergence of their new queen. A massive, boisterous cheer arose the instant the main doors opened and only swelled as the Royal Couple emerged flanked by the other ThuderCats. Hope bloomed anew for many of the cheering throng at another sign that their race was on the path to recovery.

"Isn't that dress beautiful?" Avril asked, shouted more like, at the way the material clung to Cheetara's... QUEEN Cheetara's... shapely body.

"Yeah, she really pulls that look off alright," Etain said, forcing herself not to stare too closely. Avril could sometimes get possessive.

"Maybe I'll wear one like it someday." Avril's eyes got the distant, dreamy look they always did when fantasizing.

"Say what?"

"I mean... It's always been a dream of mine to wear a beautiful dress on my wedding day."

Uh-oh, Etain thought. She thought the institution to be meaningless, if two people loved each other and were happy, who cared if they went through a ceremony and made it official?

"I don't think I could pull that look off," Etain said as Lion-O and Cheetara walked through the parting crowd. It seemed the safest route. Marriage was a subject neither had seen a need to bring up.

"You'd also make a beautiful bride," Avril replied, sliding an arm about her trim waist. Stunned at the overt display of affection in public (Avril could be near-prudish out and about), Etain blurted out the first thing that crossed her mind.

"Just so long as that fantasy of yours doesn't involve cubs." She felt Avril stiffen beside her. "Uh... In the natural way, of course." Etain nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Avril relaxed again. Etain had no fears regarding committment, she was more committed to Avril than she had been to anyone, but the thought of raising cubs frightened her. It was the ultimate responsibility, and one she didn't think herself cut out for.

"Yes, there's that. Well, you never know, a cub might find its way into our lives somehow."

"Yeah." Etain linked her free hand with Avril's, their fingers interlocking. Just no time soon, I hope, she thought.

"By the way, Etain?"

"Hm?"

"That was a nice save back there."

"You should have some of this bread," Fahd said as he walked through the merriment taking place in the Central Plaza. Tryphon walked beside him, silently fuming.

"I SHOULD be working on that tapestry I got commissioned for," he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're almost done with it, and it's magnificent. I think it captures the Vanguard brilliantly. Come on, I'm always telling you that you don't eat enough."

"And you like to strap on the feed-bag. How do you NOT gain weight?"

"I have a metabolism like a Thundrillium reactor," Fahd said with his usual serene grin in place. "I just wish we could have gotten into the courtyard of the lair. It's not every day a king gets married."

"It's not every day ANYONE gets married!" Tryphon snapped. "What's your point?"

"Oh, just relax and enjoy the festivities," Fahd said, holding out a small loaf of bread. To his relief, Tryphon took it (or snatched it) from his hand and began to nibble on it. "You enjoyed yourself when we celebrated the official first day of the colony."

"First: I had help. Second: That help gave me a hangover."

"Hence you still being sober." After that night, Tryphon had steered away from alcohol. They walked along in silence, ducking around laughing and dancing people of Thunderian, Wollo, and Bolkin lineage alike.

"Fahd."

"Yes?" Tryphon seemed to struggle with something, his lips working yet no sound coming out.

"Thanks. For today. And the bread, I guess." Fahd stroked his hand across Tryphon's shoulders and was glad to find the younger man not tensing up or slapping it away outright.


	2. Test of a Lifetime, Part One

ThunderCats

Bio-Booster Armor Guyver

The Coming Darkness

Episode Two

It surprised Aptom to find that Commander Ratar-O's personal quarters aboard the Warhammer were so spartan. He would have thought that the Mutant warmonger would live in extravagance, it would have fit given what he had learned about Plun-Darr life so far. The man... rat... sat before him on a somewhat plush sofa with that bastard Meliz standing at rigid attention behind him. He made a mental note not to underestimate this particular Mutant.

"Your progress, Dr. Gireg?" he said in the brusque voice of a man used to being in command.

"I have found that the chemical agents and biological fluids are used to give beings the ability to make rapid changes to their own DNA in accordance to a set pattern for a set result." THAT had been easy enough. Aptom, Lost Number or not, had been a Zoanoid. "It seems that this process was developed specifically for a single species."

"Humans."

"Yes, sir, exactly." No, this Ratar-O was definitely not a fool. Or, he thought, not a TOTAL one. "I don't mean to overstep my bounds, but I assume you want to apply this to Mutantkind?" The commander's eyes took on a hard glint at that, then relaxed.

"I thought you'd figure that much out at least."

"Beg pardon, but being a scientist means having a working brain. I'm not a Simian." That got a short chuckle from Ratar-O. "Sir, have you considered what you're attempting?" Not that Aptom cared, but he had to play his part. Shakespeare on acid, he told himself yet again, as directed by Quintin Tarantino and Tim Burton. Somehow, that thought no longer gave him a headache. "It's my considered opinion that you'll need a way to control..."

"Don't worry about that," Ratar-O said, brimming with confidence. "Just stick to your lab work."

"Regarding that," Aptom said, "Many of the substances we need can't be found here. Do you know of other..."

"I know of them. There is one, in fact, that has caught my eye." He tapped a few commands on the surface of the table, activating the monitor recessed into the wall. Aptom/Gireg turned about and saw a map of the United States on the flat screen. One region in particular was selected. A spot in what was once Arizona which was now a swamp.

The man has some scary good means of digging up intel, if he found what's left of Celestial Hall, Aptom thought. Caught his eye, my ass!

"This was the the site of a major research and distribution center," Ratar-O explained. Aptom knew the truth of it, but not if Ratar-O was lying about it. "The swamp has an unusually high concentration of strange mutagenic compounds."

"I recommend setting up our major research there. I would like to test samples of that bog." Aptom felt a chill race through him as he matched this piece with Ratar-O's statement that he had controlling any newly developed Zoanoids in his pocket.

"I concur. Dismissed, Gireg."

"Sir." Aptom took his leave, barely noticing the spotless corridors on the way back to his lab. It was a series of coincidences on the level of winning the lottery by using one's birthday. Did he know about Zoalords? Why would he...

The thought nearly made his knees buckle, and it made perfect sense. What if Ratar-O had somehow found a way to turn HIMSELF into a Zoalord? Aptom shook his head at that. If he had THAT knowledge, then he wouldn't need scientists to learn how to make Zoanoids. But still...

What are you planning? he silently asked as he stalked through the corridors of the Warhammer.

"Thoughts?" Ratar-O asked as Meliz sat down.

"I'm not sure. He spends nearly all his time in that damn lab."

"As a good scientist should," Ratar-O replied as he reached for the bottle of Kirgash he kept hidden and poured two steaming mugs full. "Still, you suspect him."

"I don't know why, father," he said, "it's..."

"A hinky feeling," Ratar-O finished.

"I haven't found anything conclusive."

"Then, what have you found?" Ratar-O took a sip. "Recall your lessons."

"If I haven't found guilt, then I haven't dug deeply enough," Meliz quoted. "I have one thing, but I don't know how significant it is."

"Out with it!"

"Many of the men aboard have stopped availing themselves of the women."

"Strange, but not overly so," Ratar-O said. "Even fucking gets old after a while."

"True, but this has me worried."

"Then follow your nose," Ratar-O said. "First thing tomorrow, I want to see plans of approach to this place... this Arizona... that won't alert the ThunderCats."

"As you command."

"Ready?" Panthro asked as Sho and Myrlha entered the hangar. The two ThunderCycles sat ready in the middle of the menagerie of parts Sho could not have put names to on a bet. Beneath his arm was a helmet in the shape of a cat's head, the visor over the open mouth up. Myrlha, Panthro, and Mandora each sported the same helmets.

The ThunderCycles were as different as night and day. While both had dual wheels front and back, their aesthetics were far removed from each other. The one Sho approached strongly resembled an ancient Yamaha with angular lines and a low-slung design. Panthro's personal bike, however, strongly resembled an old Harley. The front forks were longer, the entire shape of the bike more laid back. Yet, it seemed to scream power.

"We have a long ride ahead of us to the Village of Scholars." Panthro said as he sat on the monster machine.

"Let's go," Sho said, donning his own helmet and sitting atop his bike. Myrlha sat behind him, with Mandora taking a seat behind Panthro. Both kicked the bikes to life, the higher whine of his own ThunderCycle making counterpoint to the low rumble of Panthro's. The front forks of each bike ended in clawed cat's paws with the headlamps shining from the mouths of styized cat's heads. The visor came down, revealing an HUD which showed their current location and directions they needed to ride in. Both accellerated, rocketing the bikes toward the Villiage of Scholars. Warm, early spring morning sun greeted them as the bikes angled toward the curving access road which led around the periphery of the Colony proper. They rode, seeing the farmers tending to the matters of planting new wheat. Men and women rode on compact tractors which pulled plow blades to furrow the earth. He thought to wave, then thought better of releasing one of the handlebar grips. This ride was about more than testing the long range and off-road ability of the ThunderCycle designs, they were also to hone his skill in riding one. He couldn't stick to spaceboards forever.

"Coming to the dirt," Panthro's voice said in his ear via the commlink in the helmets.

"Got it." On reaching the end of the access road, it wouldn't do to have armored vehicles tearing through the busy streets, Sho engaged the off-road setting. Thick, gripping nubs of hard rubber extended from the tires once road gave way to grass. "Looks good, Sensei."

"Just don't go pretending to be Cheetara on that thing," the ThunderCat gently chided. "They gyro compensators solve a lot of balance issues with these things, but I don't want you and Myrlha to get hurt."

"Aw, Panthro, you DO care!" Myrlha gushed.

"Yeah, yeah." All four had a laugh at that. Open plains and endless sky stretched ahead of them. Myrlha pressed herself into his back, and suddenly it made sense. Sho had never been able to parse the mystique of motorcycles during the age of Second Earth until that moment. The wind blowing across his body, the power of the machine at his command, the open air, and the woman he loved holding onto him, trusting her life to his skills with the machine.

"Doin' pretty good over there," Panthro said.

"I never realized how awesome this was!" Sho exclaimed. "All I need is a black leather jacket, and this'll be PERFECT!"

"I KNEW I left something outta the design!" Panthro hooted. "Good call, Kid!" It was Panthro's name for him, and would not change nor would Sho calling Panthro "Sensei". "Thanks for bringin' it up!"

"Anytime." Sho clicked off as the countryside blurred past them. Yeah, he thought, this beats spaceboards with a lead pipe.

"Why," Tryphon began as the mule-drawn wagon they were riding in neared the gates of the town of Watershed, "did I EVER let you convince me that this was a good idea?" His rant was muted for the sake of the humans, Wollos, and Bolkins riding in the cart with them. Of all the passengers in this wagon, in the caravan that had picked them up several days previous, only they had been able to squeeze their wares in with them. The rest had theirs in the load-bearing wagons.

"You convinced yourself, Try," Fahd replied. "You were the one who said we needed more material."

"Me and my big mouth," Tryphon said as guards armed with strange rifles came alongside the wagon's driver. "I'll never get these callouses off my ass," he muttered as the two perfomed a cursory, yet surprisingly thorough, search of the wagon.

"Bags," one said, looking directly at them. Fahd immediately opened them, revealing lengths of fabrics, finished clothes, and other doo-dads for sale. The guards unceremoniously thrust their hands in, found nothing, and stepped back. "Sorry," the one on the left said, "we had some bad trouble last year. It's over, now, though. Enjoy your stay in Watershed." The wagon moved forward again and the emerging bustle of Watershed greeted them.

"So, where to?" Tryphon asked. "See a likely spot?" Almost all of the stalls were empty. According to the trader from whom they'd gotten the silk, any empty stall was up for grabs. The only rules were that, once claimed, another couldn't take it. "Stop standing so close!" he hissed.

"What?"

"Dolt, this isn't the Colony," Tryphon snarled. "We're getting enough stares from our looks!" Fahd, realizing what Tryphon meant, took a discrete step back.

"HI!" cried a chipper female voice. Both turned to see a Wollo woman clad in pants and a shirt rush up to them. Fahd recalled her, after thinking a moment, from the site of Fortress Plun-Darr, but little else.

"Hello!" Fahd called in return as she drew to a stop. She smiled up at them, genuinely happy.

"How is Laheela?" the Wollo asked. Both Tryphon and Fahd then recalled her.

"You're Maria!" Fahd exclaimed. The woman who had helped free them all.

"That's me!" she said. "So glad to see you here!"

"Yeah, um, nice to see you, too," Tryphon said quietly. Both men looked at her, both trying to recall something about her.

"Where are you setting up shop?"

"Oh, just there, I think," Fahd said as he pointed to an unoccupied kiosk near the front gates of Watershed.

"Good choice," Maria said, "but you might want to hurry. Prime spots get taken fast. I'll be back for you around sundown."

"What?" Tryphon sputtered.

"You need a place to stay, and lodging here can be pricey if you don't want to stay in a tent. I'll get a nice supper prepared, and bring you to my place."

"You don't..."

"I'll see you then," she said, nodding once before dashing off. Fahd shrugged while Tryphon nearly bristled.

"What the HELL did we get roped into?" he asked.

"A good spot to do business, if we get to that stall in time," Fahd said. "I know how tight with a coin you can be, so free room and board should be a great deal."

"You better not get us in a fix," Tryphon said as they moved to claim the booth.

"Oretharsis," Jagara said as she waved her hand above the sealed chest containing the Treasure of Thundera. Nestled in the deepest depths of Cat's Lair, it sat protected by technology she didn't fully understand, and by magic she'd helped cast. The lid popped silently open to reveal the glittering contents. The Totem of Dera, which she tried not to touch. The Chain of Loyalty, more a psychologcial artifact than a magical one. Others, whose eldritch purpose even she dared not reveal. Finally, her questing fingers discovered it. Jagara pulled free the Book of Omens, the most sacred of their artifacts. An object whose power rivalled, and in some ways exceeded, that of the Eye itself. Only Jagara knew its true power, and true purpose. Dark times were coming, dark enough for her to reveal it to her king. Jagara reached into the chest again, and her hand came up bearing the Key.

The Eye, the Key, and the Book, she thought, staring at the two in each hand, together again. I had always hoped I would never see this day. Part of her hoped it to be a dream, yet she knew it was not. The ancient prophecies of Thundera, to think they'd be tied to those of Third Earth! What force in the universe deemed that to be so?

Jagara tucked the Book under one arm and the Key in the sparse brassiere she wore. Even she did not really know how the Guyvers factored into what destiny had decided. She only knew her role in it.

"Hello Claudis," she said without turning. "I knew you'd be here."

"Far be it from a former king," he began, "to ask what you intend to do with the two most important pieces of our legacy." Claudis stepped up beside her, his face serene. "I trust that it involves my son."

"Yes," she replied.

"And," he continued, "that there is far more to this prophecy than you, Mumm-Rana, or even Jaga have revealed."

"You are correct."

"Jaga was my closest friend, you know," Claudis said. "But, even he kept things from me. I never doubted his reasons, of course. Our loaylty was to the people of Thundera first, even before each other."

"Lord Claudis, if you please, can we cut the crap?" Jagara asked, irritated.

"I want to know if what you're up to will harm my son," he said bluntly.

"He may," Jagara admitted, "but the life of a king is not free from peril."

"No. No, it is not." His shoulders slumped at that.

"What I do," she began, "I do for the good of all who live on this world. It will be hard on him, but he must go through this."

"Isn't Sho's power enough?"

"As it stands, no."

"By the gods... What are we up against?!"

"You will know, and far sooner than I would like." A shudder of fear ripped through her rejuvenated body. "I can say no more. Please, trust me."

"I cannot see any other option." Jagara nodded once before turning about to take her leave.

Lion-O relaxed in the overstuffed recliner in the foyer of his royal quarters. A tray bearing an impressive array of steaming covered dishes sat between him and the empty chair which was Cheetara's. The murmur of the raining hot water was a low hum as he viewed the daily reports from the various ares of New Thundera Colony. With nothing pressing on the day's agenda, he found himself with a rare day off that he fully intended to enjoy with his wife.

Yet again, that word appeared from around a blind corner. Cheetara was now his wife, the mother (soon to be) of his child. It still knocked him for a loop from time to time. He barely noticed the dull roar of the shower ceasing. She emerged and strode up to him minutes later, a towel wrapped about her body and another about her hair and her skin seeming to glow in the morning light that beamed through the window.

"Smells wonderful," she purred as she uncovered a dish of scrambled eggs. Her appetite had been steadily increasing over the course of the past winter, yet her stomach was only beginning to round out.

"What's that weird phrase for 'Eat up'?"

"Bon Appetite," she replied after swallowing. "I think the language was called 'French'." He had never seen her so ravenous before. Cheetara had always been mindful of what she ate. Seeing her bolting down her breakfast, though, made him love her all the more. She was, all told, eating for two. Or three. She was due for a checkup later in the week and twins were not uncommon in Thunderian pregnancies.

Twins? he thought. May Jaga help me on that one!

"Tygra's done well so far," he said, digging in to his own meal. For the sake of his own duties concerning the day-to-day affairs of running the Colony, his Annointment Trials had been broken up. The less physically demanding ones had been met, and passed, during the winter months. Kyranna, Siberias, and Pumyra had each tested him on medical matters which his own experience on Third Earth had stood him in good stead. Myrlha's Trial of Agility had been held in the Lair's gym. Laheela's Trial of Marksmanship had been held in the courtyard (with observers standing well clear). Torr's Trial of Agriculture had been held in the livestock stables. Bengali's Trial of Metalworking in his own forge, and Lynx-O's Trial of Sight in the halls of Cat's Lair, complete with a blindfold for Tygra. Cheetara's Trial of Speed, however, had been first due to her advancing pregnancy. The most dangerous challenges remained ahead of him, and the first was today.

"Going up against Kat and Kit," Cheetara said, placing her cup of decaf back on its saucer. "I don't envy him. I didn't envy you, for that matter."

"The Maze of Infinity was bad enough," he said, "this Trial of Traps sounds even worse." The pair had left a week previous to set up the traps and tricks in a stretch of the western fringe of the Unicorn Forest the Keepers had agreed to keep their herds away from for the duration. "What I don't envy him is Panthro's test."

"It'll be much different from yours."

"How so?"

"There are three tests of strength," she explained after another sip of coffee. "Strength of the body, strength of the mind, and strength of the will."

"The Anointment Trials test all of that," he said, recalling his own run through the gauntlet.

"Exactly. Panthro chose to test the body, and the best way he knew how was to fight you. You didn't have to win, just prove you were stronger. An entire Wollo village can attest that you did." The boulder, which he redirected while Panthro could only hold it at bay, had earned him the Panther's insignia.

"Tygra chose to test the mind, with his illusions." And THAT had been one hell of a contest for him, on top of the icy temperatures of Hook Mountain and Mutant interference. "My test is going to be of the body. So, Panthro's going to test his will?" A nod was his answer. "How?" Cheetara explained for a few moments. "Oh." Breakfast was done in short order.

"Worried about your checkup?" he asked once the dishes had been cleared by a valet and taken to be cleaned. They sat together on the sofa, she curled up against him.

"No reason to be. I'm coming along just fine."

"I..."

"We have a day to ourselves," she began, "and it's hours before we have to leave to meet Tygra at the end of his test. Just relax."

"You're right," Lion-O said as he leaned back and pulled her down with him so that his back was against the sofa's arm and she was against his chest.

There it is, Tygra thought as he neared the edge of the Unicorn Forest. He wrinkled his nose at the slight scent of sulphur in the air, unnoticable to most natives of Third Earth. The presence of Thundrainium pits put out that smell (though he new the scent alone was not always an indication of one) and there was a small one in the area. Pit 2-A, he recalled. It had been marked not long after their discovery of the substance on this planet as a place to steer clear of. That said discovery had co-incided with the first arrival of Grune as a ghost seemed an ill omen to him.

It made sense that they would choose such a location. The location of the pit, they had to be hoping, would factor in psychologically. The twins were maturing, adding more subtlety to their game if this was any indication. They'd had months to plan and nearly a week to prepare.

"If those two don't know every trick in the book," he said to himself, "then they could easily write a guide to the best ones." And that, he knew, was what he was facing. The twins at their sneakiest best. The sun was still low in the east, and he had until sundown to navigate their nest of snares and tricks. He squared his shoulders and put every sense on high alert. Once he stepped into the treeline, the game was on.

"LET US GO!" WilyKat shouted as he struggled with the ropes keeping him immobile. several coils were cinched about his torso, legs, and his arms behind his back. WilyKit sat back-to-back with him in the claustrophobic space of the array of stones piled above them in the manner of an igloo. He could feel his strength being gradually sapped. The dome of rocks blocked most of the Thundrainium, save for the small space of the entrance. Their arms and upper bodies were tied to each other's as well. Their chances of escape, it seemed, were minimal.

Merely the day before, while setting traps for Tygra's Annointment Trial, he had felt a tiny prick of pain in the base of his neck and blackness settled in. Other images played across his mind in a haze, sounds unrecognizeable before unconsciousness had draped over him again. Now, he had awoken to a (to him) recurring nightmare.

"What," the Scavenger who had captured them said, "and ruin such a golden opportunity? How about NO!"

"BASTARD!" WilyKit roared from behind. Her own struggles, along with his, seemed to make the ropes tighter.

"Keep still, or you'll cut off your circulation," the Mutant said, and then cackled madly. "I wish I had time to explain just what your role is in this grand trap. And, I thank you for setting up so many and saving me SO much time! I only had to... modify a few."

"What do you think you're gonna do?" Kat asked, hoping for any scrap of information.

"That," he said, "is for whomever is attempting the Annointment Trials to find out. I believe his name is Tygra."

"How... HOW COULD YOU KNOW THAT?!"

"Oh, word of such things gets around, and I'm good at overhearing tidbits of information and putting them together. But, I really must get going." The scrawny Jackal turned to make his way to the exit, pausing when half-way there. "By the way," he began, "you should know that you have NO chance of getting out of here. Should this Tygra survive the series of traps I've enhanced, it will only ensure your deaths."

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE OUR TRAPS ARE!" Kit screamed.

"Oh, in fact, I do. The drug I used to incapacitate you has another rather wonderful effect. It leaves the victims in a semi-conscious state. As such, the ability to lie is greatly reduced. You two told me everything I needed. Thank you. I mean it." With that he was gone, and both siblings shed bitter tears in spite of themselves.

"No..." Kit moaned, her struggles ceased for the moment.

Not again... Kat thought with mounting horror. "NOT AGAIN!"

Tygra enters a den of traps, unsuspecting what really awaits him. Panthro's group reaches the Village of Scholars. WilyKit and WilyKat struggle in the grip of what seems certain doom. What awaits them all? All this and more in the next episode of The Coming Darkness.


	3. Test of a Lifetime, Part Two

ThunderCats

Bio-Booster Armor Guyver

The Coming Darkness

Episode Three.

It was just another of the strange facts of life on Third Earth that, so soon after the onset of early spring, the forest was alive and thick with green. Tygra could have devoted his life to studying their adopted planet's ecosystem and merely scratch the surface of its mystery. He shook his head in short gestures, turning off the part of his mind that loved such curious puzzles. The twins would have their A-game on this day, and he could do no less if he even hoped to pass their test. His steps slowed to a crawl, despite the time limit of sundown. His eyes searched every surface, ears straining to pick up each sound. Aside from whatever traps they'd set up, he'd have to deal with them trying to mislead him.

There, just ahead and between two towering elms. The thread was barely visible, anyone could miss it if they hadn't been looking. Tygra approached it slowly, aware that not everything was what it seemed when the twins were really on a roll. Each end of the thread led into the underbrush, and Jaga only knew what trap it would...

Oh, he thought. Clever.

This wasn't the trap. It was too obvious. Tyra grabbed a handy rock, gauged the distance of a lengthy stride, and gently tossed it. The leafy carpet left over from autumn caved in, revealing a shallow pit. He smiled to himself. The twins, it seemed, were starting him off easy. Just to be sure, however, he used his claws to sever the thread. A frantic rustle sounded from above just before a log nearly as thick as the hole was wide smashed down into the hole. Tygra stared at it for a moment, not quite able to believe what he'd just seen while his heart pounded in his chest. Even for them, even in an Annointment Trial, that was just too damn far! If he died during the Trials, it was not to be at ThunderCat hands! What the hell were they thinking?! Tygra crawled further ahead, now wary to the point of paranoia. He couldn't back out without forfeitting everything, but why had they set up something like that? Tygra proceeded as fast as he dared. More than his place as the new Lord of the ThunderCats was at stake here.

Terror began to give way to rational thought as he weaved his way through the trees. The twins weren't children any more and if any ThunderCats were naturals at psychological warfare, it would be them. That whole setup, it seemed in hindsight, had been an attempt to get into his head. To make him jump at shadows. Kat and Kit were maturing, so their tactics would as well.

"They're not kittens any more," he said to himself, "and I was foolish to think otherwise. Lesson learned, you two."

Confident once more, he picked up his pace. A step, then two, then a rustle from above. Tygra backflipped away just as the cage slammed down. It was made from clear polymer... With smooth branches bound to the top bars by leather sraps, their wickedly sharp ends nearly touching the earth. Tygra stared at it, nearly horrified at the sight. He commanded himself to be calm, to focus. Something wasn't right about this trap, as with the one before, and with this whole damn setup.

The material of the cage itself was made from materials they could have easily gotten from the Depot. Panthro might even have given them hints on how to shape it. The edges had planted themselves into the dirt, so it would have taken him a little while to lift it up enough to escape. But, the wooden spears... Panthro would never have allowed an addition like that, and he KNEW the twins would never have gone that far. The trap from before, in fact, was most unlike them.

This trap was modified after it had been set, he thought with mounting fear. The twins aren't my opponents here. The eerie familiarity brought up the memory of another death trap, not long ago. And of the Mutant who had set it up.

"Show yourself!" he shouted. "What have you done to them?!"

"The man recognizes good craftmanship," the familiar voice of the Scavenger who had rigged the water trap last year taunted. The voice came from seemingly everywhere at once. Tygra had no way to locate the source through the echoes. "Long time, no see!"

"Not long enough!"

"Ooooh. GOOD comeback, there." Mocking laughter ricocheted off the myriad of trees. "Oh, those two are safe. For the moment. This Annointment Trial stuff must be serious business if you don't even have that damn whip on you!" Tygra's heart froze at that. "How did I know? They talked. Believe me, they talked. Told me about every little trap. They had good ideas but, as you can see, I've vastly improved them."

"I'll make you pay for every wound you left on them!"

"Since it was just a couple of needle pricks, that won't be much."

"Drugs? From a Mutant?"

"And why not?" the mocking, madly echoing voice of the Scavenger said. "Primor was one hard-assed son of a bitch, but he had a lot to teach if you had your eyes and ears open. Relax, I didn't torture them. It woulda been fun, don't get me wrong, but I needed information and kicking someone's balls into his throat ain't the best way to get it." Tygra remained silent. "See, Primor had this drug. I don't know the real name for it or what goes in it. Hell, I don't think HE knew! But it got results."

Sodium Pentothal, Tygra thought. If WilyKit and WilyKat had been fortunate, that had been it.

"See, it reduces a victim's ability to lie. Lying takes some mental agility if you wanna keep them all straight. This stuff, it's like a few belts of really good booze all at once but made to make lying damn near impossible. They resisted at first, but they talked in the end."

As well they would, Tygra thought, if you'd doped them.

"After the first time I saw Primor use it, I made sure to keep some handy. You never know, right?" It had to have been Sodium Pentothal, or a close derivative. "Let's cut to the chase. They're not in this forest, but their lives depend on you. If you get outta here alive by sundown, I'll tell you where to find them. Until then, I'M your opponent, and it won't be just traps. I'll be hunting you. If you die, or if the sun sets before you get out of this forest, those two are MINE to do with as I see fit."

"You won't get that chances!"

"See, that's up to you. Those two have been mine for just over a day. Whether they remain mine is ENTIRELY up to you. Isn't that what your Annointment Trials are about? The clock's ticking Tygra. Better get a move on."

The sun had risen higher when the group had stopped for lunch within sight of the Hills of Elfshima. The hills themselves rested in the distant haze of late morning, their strange shape only just visible. The pale blue sky, without so much as a single cloud to mar its surface, seemed to meet the earth at the far horizon.

"The last time my legs tingled like this," Myrlha said, "we..."

"Myrlha," he groaned, blushing.

"You know I love to tease you," she said as they dismounted.

"Hey, not-quite-newlyweds!" Panthro called, "innocent ears!"

"Really? Where?" Sho shaded his eyes with a hand, looking comically about. Panthro and Myrlha laughed out loud, and even Mandora gave a chuckle as the cloth was spread and food put out. The four sat, and Sho noticed Mandora was a tad closer to Panthro than his Sensei was overly comfortable with. His expression only gave a faint hint of awkwardness, though.

"How're you liking the Colony?" Myrlha asked before taking a bite of her sandwich.

"I'm getting along well," Mandora replied. Her usual brusque tone had softened of late.

"Great help in the Depot, I'll give her that," Panthro said.

"I didn't know you were an engineer!"

"I'm not, Sho," Mandora said. "Out on patrol, things don't always wait until you're at a station to break down." She gazed at him with the investigator's stare she had given him just before Lion-O and Cheetara's wedding. "Why did you do it?"

"Um, do what?" he asked after swallowing a bite of buffalo roast. The damn things were EVERYWHERE around the Colony. Remembering how mass hunting had nearly made them extinct once, Sho was glad that Torr had put some restrictions on the pratice.

"Destroy the Vertis," she replied simply.

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Myrlha asked, perplexed.

"I want to hear it from him. I want to hear it for myself." There was something in those words, a need that was both naked and veiled.

"Well," Sho began, then took a sip of water from his canteen, "lots of reasons. I... I don't even know where to start. I want to say he had it coming."

"He did, all right," Panthro agreed.

"Also, I wanted to free the people he was hauling off to be sold."

"Were you ordered to?" Mandora asked.

"No, actually, I wasn't. King Lion-O didn't have to. Hell, I was the obvious choice for the mission." Sho paused to collect his thoughts. "Look, I might as well stop beating around the bush. I did it because I didn't have a choice."

"Keep going," Mandora said. She leaned forward, her eyes locked on his face.

"I tried not to kill anyone I didn't have to. If they ran, I let them. The damage I did to that ship was to get my countrymen off of it, and to keep those bastards Shiner and Lenin from doing them any further harm. Shit, in hindsight I could think up a thousand reasons why I turned that ship into junk. All I can honestly say about it, though, is that in the heat of the moment, it was the right thing to do." Mandora's face took on a contemplative expression.

"Why did you let them live?"

"Shiner, or Lenin?"

"Both."

"They didn't resist, for starters," he began. Her expression became approving at that. "Shiner, bastard that he is, didn't deserve it. He's a mercenary, that's all."

"And Lenin?"

"He deserved it. But, killing him would have made me no better than him. I don't know if that'll satisfy you, but there it is." The wide smile which appeared on her face suggested that it very much did.

"Thank you, Sho," she said with a smile and moist eyes.

"Gotten used to hearing that yet?" Myrlha asked with a smile of her own.

"I'm not sure I ever will."

"DAMNIT!" WilyKat shouted as the ropes dug deeper with each moment of increasingly weaker struggle.

"Save your sretngth," his sister said. "Besides, my ropes are getting tighter, too."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, an icy dagger of fear piercing his chest.

"A little."

"Sorry." He rested, then, fighting against the helplessness. Again, AGAIN, he was being used against his friends! When was it gonna stop!

He knew when. He knew very well.

The third shall rise from the king's own court.

Such sweet words. At that moment, they rang in his ears like bells.

"We're gonna get through this, Katcha."

Katcha. She hadn't called him that since they'd been cubs. Just as he'd once called her Kitcha. As their mother had called them so long ago across the sea of time and stars.

"Hey, um, Kit," he said, resiting his back against hers as a bubble of molten dread which wanted to turn into hate made itself known in his gut.

"What?"

"Did he... Um..."

"Did he what?"

The thought was too terrible for words, but all too plausible.

"Did that Mutant... Do... anything?" Kit was silent for several agonizing moments.

"To me." she said. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me, Bro, I'd know if he had." It could be tough to tell when his twin sister was lying, even for him at times, but he knew that she wasn't. A great sigh of relief escaped him, and a new sense of determination began to fill him. That Mutant shitheel wouldn't get the chance to lay his filthy hands on her. But, still...

"Honest?"

"For the love of crap, Bro, I WOULD KNOW if anything had happened down there!" He could not mistake the irritation in her voice.

"Sorry."

"Listen, this isn't your fault."

"We gotta save our energy. Just relax, Sis."

WilyKit leaned against him, full of doubt. She knew what he was thinking, but she had to admit that the time to bring it up was not now. The Thundrainium was working on her as well. Thankfully, the Mutant had not raped her.

Rape, she thought, shivering. She had never considered the possibility before, but found herself forced to. Safari Joe had driven the first spike of fear regarding that into her and thankfully he hadn't followed up. It was, however, a looming and ominous spectre just to her left or to her right. The certain knowledge that it WOULD happen if they stayed captives was never far from her mind. WilyKit forced it away with an effort. With escape impossible, they could only wait and hope.

Tygra was covered in scratches from the brambles he'd had to dodge through on his trek through the forest. The Mutant hadn't been kidding about the revised traps or that he'd be hunted. Green bolts of energy would streak towards him at odd moments, and the Scavenger's laughter would never be far behind them.

I have one chance, he thought as he peered through a bush to the area ahead. He's herding me along, that much is obvious. Herding me into more traps. Therefore, to the exit? The thought appealed to him. It made sense.

THINK! he commanded himself. He knows where all the traps are, but he couldn't have altered all of them. The past traps he'd narrowly avoided had all been of the lethal kind. The spray of skunk oil mixed with flammable fuel. The net snare which would have dropped him into a pit of spikes. The Mutant had had only one day to retrofit the traps. In revealing how long the twins had been his captives, he'd tipped his hand. Not by much, but by enough.

Tygra had an ace card, one he'd hoped to save for later. Unfortunately, he needed a physical fix on the Mutant. He crouched among a thicket of brambles, ignoring the thorns digging into his skin, as the sun rose ever higher. Barely an hour before, bolts of green phased plasma had begun to shoot through the trees. The Mutants had been as good as his word about being hunted.

The bursts of energy seemed to come mostly when he tried to find an alternate path. Tygra knew that this was an attempt to herd him along to where the modified traps were. The bursts always seemed to come from behind, to his right or left. He'd tried to circle back, but the Mutant's frequent shots with the rifle had shown he'd forseen that tactic.

Tygra squinted at the path ahead, fingering the smooth round stone he'd found earlier. He dared not even breathe as he lightly rolled it ahead. The stone came to rest seemingly on its own just before twin halves of a polymer cage, each having been fitted with wooden spears, slammed together to form a lethal whole. Bursts of green fire seared holes in it from the left.

"You're getting better at this!" the Mutant's echoing voice called. Tygra crept forward, tuning out the voice as it described its plans for WilyKit. "Hell, I'll make her brother WATCH me do it!" he crowed. "I might even give HIM the same treatment! I'm not really into that, but since I'm stuck on this planet, why the hell NOT?! You only live once, right?!"

I have to reach the exit, he thought. If I can get there, I have a chance.

Lion-O stood at the patio window of their quarters, staring out at the trees. Something was wrong. He couldn't shake the terrible feeling that stole over him as distant birds danced over the treetops. He gave a start as Cheetara's arms slid about his waist from behind and her head came to rest against his shoulder.

"Something's wrong," he said.

"I think so, too."

"Can't you tell what?"

"I wish I could," she replied. "When women of my clan become with cub, our sixth sense goes right out the window. Right now, all I have is from watching you." Her grip became tighter. "But, I can't help agreeing with you."

"Let's go," he said abruptly.

"And do what? We can't interfere with the Annointment Trials. You KNOW that."

"We CAN stop anyone else from doing the same."

"I do have a bad feeling," she admitted. "I just can't shake it."

"Let's go." Lion-O said. "I just hope it's nothing."

The sun sat at its zenith as the ThunderCycles reached the Village of Scholars. Men in black robes bustled among the narrow streets as the party passed through the gates.

"Hello, friends!" cried a boisterous voice. The large frame of Arcturus came bounding up to them. "It's been so long!"

"That's enough," another voice said. The four visitors turned to see a Bolkin striding up to them. Duncan strolled up to them with a smile on his face.

"Oh, Prime Scholar!" the human said as he scurried back.

"Duncan?" Panthro asked, bewildered. The diminutive Bolkin strode up to them, his black robes now fringed with purple.

"I must say," he began, "Things have changed quite a bit since you were last here. Who are your friends?"

"I'm Myrlha."

"Seres Mandora."

"I'm..."

"Sho Fukamachi," Duncan said, smiling up at him. "Oh, yes, I know who you are."

"I guess my reputation preceeds me," he said with a lopsided grin.

"Word of you reached us quite a while ago. I've been most eager to meet you, seeing as how you're responsible for my being Prime Scholar."

"What?!"

"We can discuss that later. Please, follow me." They walked behind Duncan along the crowded streets of the Villiage of Scholars. Sho was keenly aware of the eyes upon him, of the whispers that followed his passage. After several minutes of walking, they found themselves before a house that would not have been out of place on an ancient plantation. The front was lined with marble columns which stretched from ground to rooftop. Ornate windows decorated its face, with double doors made of polished oak in the center. Two men, not wearing robes, bowed after pushing them open.

"Welcome home, Prime Scholar," they said in unison.

"So," Panthro began, "Wanna tell us how this happened?" The foyer gleamed, the surfaces nearly clean enough to perform surgery on. A single wide staircase led up to the balcony above. Duncan gave it not so much as a glance as he led them to a simple door set in the wall to the right.

The chamber beyond bore shelves along every wall, most filled with books. The desk in the center of the barely-organized clutter looked to be made of stained mahogany, its age easily in the triple digits. Duncan leapt into the seat and gazed at Sho pointedly.

"I've known of your coming for a long time," he said, "but many of the details were beyond my expectations." Before Sho could ask, a knock sounded at the door. At Duncan's invitation, a steward walked in pushing a wheeled cart laden with covered dishes. "Again, more food than I can eat in one go," Duncan said, "but now I have guests to share it with!" The fare was simple, vegetable dishes and thin soups, but was pleasing to the pallette all the same. Tea was served after dinner was finished, and the steward excused himself. "Even after five months as Prime Scholar," Dunan began, "I'm still not used to this level of extravagance. All I need is here in this one room, yet I have an entire manor with servants! A Bolkin, with SERVANTS!" he cried.

"Um, yeah," Sho said. "So, how do I figure into that?"

"Duncan researched legends about you," Panthro said.

"Indeed, I did. To think that they were true!" Duncan slid forward in his seat, eyeing Sho in a way the human was not overly comfortable with. "And to think that he was wrong!"

"Who?"

"Oh, silly me," Duncan said with a sigh. "There was a human I met a long time ago whose knowledge of Second Earth was without peer. He never believed in the legends surrounding the Guyver. He and I remained friends for many years. Oh, I wish I could see him again."

"I think we saw him last time we were here," Panthro said. "What was his name?"

"Agito."

Sho's jaw dropped at that name.

"Agito?" he asked, the saliva in his mouth having dried up.

"Why, yes," Duncan said, though his happy demeanor was shaken at his reaction.

"Agito Makashima..." Sho trailed off. "What has he told you?"

"Many things..."

"Damnit!"

"SHO!" Myrlha, Mandora, and Panthro shouted.

"He left a book in my care," Duncan said, visibly shaken. "He told me to give it to you."

"So, he told you about me?" Duncan could only nod as Sho left his seat. "It makes sense."

"Honey, you're scaring me," Myrlha said.

"Don't take me for a total fool, Sho," Duncan said sharply. "Given what has reached me of late, it's obvious Agito was incorrect about..."

"No," Sho said, "he was lying to you." The silence which followed his words stretched thick in the air.

"Young man," Duncan began, "I hardly think you should call someone you've never met a liar!"

"I have met him. Agito Makashima."

"How..."

"Guyver Three."

"I see," Duncan said at length. "I was right after all."

"Mind filling the rest of us in?" Mandora asked.

"Agito told me," Duncan said as he rose from his chair and walked to one of the stuffed bookshelves, "that you would come to me, Sho." He searched the stacks of volumes. "That your memory would have failed you."

"But..."

"I TOLD you I'm no fool," Duncan said as he selected a particular tome and hefted in in his arms. It was thick and bound in ancient leather. "I know you are thousands of years old, as old as the stories about you. So, how would my friend know you would come, even before your presence was known?" Duncan blew dust off of the cover. Imprinted were the Kanji characters for Sho's name. "He left this in my care, just over twenty years ago."

"Duncan..."

"He always denied knowledge of the Guyver legends," the Bolkin said. "But events of late have given lie to that. I wonder what else he told me was false?"

"You still call him a friend?" Myrlha asked as Sho accepted the tome.

"He was never anything but. Whatever secrets of Second Earth he kept from he, I don't doubt it was for a good reason."

I have you now, Tygra thought as he crept between the mighty trees. He was scraped and bloody, having narrowly avioded yet another trap. Two of the claws on the left hand had peeled back as he'd climbed out of a slippery pit whose bottom had been lined with jagged metal. He ignored the pain, the fear, even the adrenaline and forced his mind to be calm while he sought a secure spot. The Mutant had overplayed his hand again, and Tygra fully intended to take advantage of it.

A set of steel jaws snapped closed just a second after he'd yanked his arm back. No bursts of energy followed. He remained stock still, searching for any sign of attack. When none came after several moments, he crawled forward yet again.

Getting close to sundown, he thought. If I'm gonna pull this off, I have to get started now!

"Ah! Hello!" Maria cried as she neared the kiosk Tryphon and Fahd had selected.

"Good evening, Miss Maria," Fahd said. Tryphon busied himself with packing their belongings. "Thank you for greeting us!"

"Come on," she said, "there aren't any more buyers out, and dinner's ready!"

"When did we agree to stay with her?" Tryphon asked.

"When did you say you wanted to spend as little as possible?" Fahd retorted. "Lead on, Miss Maria." They followed her through twisting streets and bustling people.

"That kiosk," she said, "is yours now. So long as you're in Watershed, that's where you do business. Was it good?"

"Quite good, wasn't it, Try?"

"Oh, yeah. Lotsa money."

"I'm glad. Now, come along!" Tryphon and Fahd fell in lock-step behind the Wollo as she sauntered through the crowds. Many of the other races gave her a wide berth of respect. "Here we are!" she chirped once they got to the two-story building she called home. The inside was tastefully decorated in muted wood, lit with scattered lanterns that lent a homey feel. The aroma of a merrily simmering stew set their stomachs to rumbling sharply, both spying the iron cauldron hung over a low fire. "Lisker!" she called in her brightest sing-song voice, and the two Thunderians came to a near-crashing halt.

"Did she say..." they said in unison before the human came into view from behind a door to the left.

"Fuck me," Tryphon said before he could stop himself.

"Please forgive my partner, Mister Lisker," Fahd said in his best soothing voice at the sight of Lisker and Maria's open-mouthed stares. "His mouth sometimes runs away with him..."

"First," Lisker said with a wide smile, "I'm taken. Second, your short friend isn't even my type. That whole having-a-penis thing is a real turn-off." The tension in the air dissipated at once. "I saw you two at Fortress Plun-Darr, but I never got your names."

"I'm Fahd," he replied with an extended hand that Lisker shook. "My partner is called Tryphon. I must apologize again for..."

"Don't worry about it," Lisker said. "This is kind of a shock for me, too. Maria told me we'd have guests, but I didn't think it'd be two Thunderians." Lisker shook his head before shooting Maria a glance. "You certainly got me on this one."

"Nice," another female voice said from the right. Tryphon and Fahd turned to see a human woman clad in abbreviated furs giving the former a speculative glance. "I've heard of your kin, but have never seen one before." Tryphon swallowed with an audible click at her scrutiny.

"Me?" Neither man could tell if her eyes held curiosity or attraction, and neither was overly comfortable with it.

"I assume you are Thunderians," she said. "I can see why one of our sister tribes took a liking to your kin."

"We have mates," Fahd said hurriedly. It was even close to the truth.

"Taken," she said, "I should have known." She smiled briefly before turning to Maria. "It smells wonderful," she said to the Wollo.

"It smells ready, too," she said before dashing to the pot and stirring. "I'll set it out, why don't you all go to the table?"

"Fahd," Tryphon said as the others filed out, "What in THE hell have you landed us in?"

"I'm not sure," he mused as they followed Lisker and the unnamed human into the dining area of the house. "But, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Thank you," he said in a voice that carried the opposite meaning, "that sets my mind right at ease."

Tygra crouched in the underbrush, ignoring the pain in the now-declawed fingers. The last few bursts of energy had allowed him to, AT LAST, get a fix on the Mutant. He sought the inner core of himself, that still place from which he could use his latent talents. Long ago, he remembered, those of his clan could use that ability with ease. Time and interbreeding had nearly extinguished the power, but it was still his to command. He calmed his mind, focused on the spectral presence of the Mutant.

Jirna paused on sighting the ThuderCat in his scope. There he was, exposed and... meditating? What the hell was THAT about? The Scavenger ignored it, lining up his shot. The striped fucker had evaded each trap thus far, and looked to be in real danger of escaping the woods. That, he knew, would not do.

You had a good run, he thought, but the game is mine.

A rustling reached his ears, leaves and earth being overturned. The ground broke to his right as the rotting corpse emerged. It flesh was mottled and rose from the depths with skeletal hands clinging to it.

"Why aren't you with us?" it asked, maggots tumbling from its mouth and clouded eyes staring sightlessly at him. "Join us." Other corpses rose up, each echoing that sentiment. "It's warm down here," the rotted form of a Reptillian cooed. "Your place is with us." The lizard's bloated tongue lolled from his mouth to explode in a torrent of maggots.

"Come and eat with me beautiful," a corpse shouted as it sprang up to grab his leg. "IT'S SO DARK!"

"It's not real..." His voice was trembling and choked, his grip on the rifle tight enough to nearly damage it. "IT'S NOT REAL!" he bellowed and, did they fade, just a little there? The flicker was gone so fast he might have imagined it and a very familiar voice rang out behind him.

"Fall IN, soldier!" Jirna turned and his stomach revolted at the sight of Primor's crushed form somehow making his way closer in a lurching stagger. Bones jutted out from dessicated flesh, their broken ends shifting with each impossible step and a grinding sound, more horrid than even the voices of his fallen former comrades, filled his ears and drilled into his brain. Primor's head was being carried almost indifferently in the right hand, bumping against the leg with each step. Jirna's balls felt as if they'd shrunk four sizes as his finger began to jerk the trigger. Most of the shots missed, yet those that hit slowed the ghastly form of his one-time leader not a whit. "What," his head taunted, the only part of him still whole, "you thought you could kill me? I'm DEAD, we're all DEAD!" More corpses began to rise, one a Reptillian whose body rose from the dirt in halves. Left half and right half slithered together, each arm trying to hold the whole together and lurching forward with a sickeningly wet sound.

Even though it's for the sake of the twins, Tygra thought, I think I'm going to hate myself for this later. He'd never used his powers of illusion to conjure such horrific images in another's mind, not to speak of the incredible drain doing so was putting on him. The Mutant would have to break soon, or he'd be unable to help Kat and Kit due to exhaustion. The Mutant put his hands to his head after dropping the now-empty rifle. And bolted, much to Tygra's annoyance. He ceased his assault on the Mutant's mind and gave chase, unable to dismiss a sense of foreboding.

Jirna ran as if all the demons of hell were on his heels which, in his own mind, was not far from the truth. He imagined he could still hear them, all clamoring for him to join them. He dashed through low-hanging branches and clumps of brambles without even feeling them rip at his flesh as the footsteps pounded behind them.

Why is he still running? Tygra asked himself as he dodged about the foliage the Mutant was destroying in his haste to escape illusions which were no longer being inflicted on him. Weary as he was, he missed the fact that his own pursuit was driving his enemy on ever harder.

Jirna dashed ever onward even as reality began to assert itself. The pursuing hordes were... just one set of feet? He didn't allow himself to slow as his terror waned. It had been a trick. A damn good one, to boot. Jirna allowed a small smile as he reflected on how he'd been fooled. ThunderCat powers, indeed!

He didn't notice the drop-off until it was too late.

Tygra's heart caught in his throat when the Mutant seemed to vanish from sight. He slowed as he neared the drop, cursing himself for forgetting about it. He reached the edge in time to see the Mutant tumble head over heels, the sounds of snapping bones audible even from where he perched. While not steep to the point of being sheer, the angle was enough. At the base of the incline was a fallen log, and Tygra knew what would happen just seconds before it did. A snapped branch sticking up from the log impaled the Mutant just below the solar plexus.

Jirna felt the white-hot pain as his fall came to an abrupt end, and had enough presence of mind to look down at the branch which had impaled him. Blood welled up in his throat which he coughed out. ThunderCat trick... indeed... Darkness encroached his vision even as he beheld Tygra making his way down. Clever bastard, he thought as the ThunderCat's face filled his fading vision. He was, he knew, in no shape to talk. Even if those two managed to escape their bonds, they'd never escape the Thundrainium pit and he'd take the knowledge of its location to his grave. It would be some small slice of solace in whatever afterlife awaited him.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!" Tygra roared as the life in the Mutant's eyes faded. All he got in reply was a weak chuckle before his head slumped on his chest. Tygra shook his head, forcing down the disgust at the thought that he'd used his greatest power to kill. Forced everything down to focus on saving two other lives. With the Mutant dead, his only chance was to get clear of the forest. Lion-O and Cheetara, he knew, would be waiting for him at the exit. It was his, and the twins', best chance.

The stew, Tryphon and Fahd found, was excellent. Though neither had sampled much in the way of Wollo fare, the lack of meat didn't detract from the dish. Tryphon, Fahd noticed, had eaten nearly all of his meal though he couldn't tell if it was from comity or fear. Lisker had gone out of his way to appear non-threatening, yet it had been Fahd who'd carried on much of the conversation while Try had busied himself eating. Maria emerged into the dining room, carrying several brown bottles.

"Go easy with this stuff," she said as she set one before each person before sitting down with her own. "I save it for special occasions." Fahd uncorked his bottle and took in the rich scent of the... beverage. It had alcohol, and it could degrease an engine, from the smell. The first sip was smooth, heavy with undertones of barley and roots. And gave him a monster buzz.

"What do you call this?" he asked. Tryphon took a sip and his eyes widened and immediately softened. Yes, indeed, this was potent stuff.

"It doesn't have a name," the human Natalie said. "Just a kick."

"One hell of a kick," Tryphon blurted, then shut his mouth with a click.

"Hey, good to see you can talk," Lisker said before taking a small pull from his bottle with a shudder. "Trust me, drink it slow, fellas." Tryphon heeded that advice by setting the bottle down after another sip. The talk was rather light as each drained their bottle of atomic beer. His head buzzing pleasntly, Fahd led Tryphon up to the guest room Maria had prepared.

"You don't seem like yourself," Fahd said as he doffed his robe. "I thought you'd sworn off alcohol."

"And piss off Lisker?" Tryphon replied as he stripped to the waist. "We're in his house, in case that slipped your mind!" The smaller man wobbled slightly on his feet, not quite drunk but a goodly way towards it. "Only one bed," he said on looking at the large sleeping surface, his voice a mix of dreamy and alarmed. Fahd shook himself inside, refusing to think about Tryphon that way. They'd had limited intimacy since having been freed, but never more than the smaller man was comfortable with. They didn't even share rooms in the living spaces above their shop.

Way to put your foot in it, Fahd, he cursed to himself. Forced not only to share lodgings, but a bed and both of them with the most potent beer in all creation coursing through their veins.

"I'll take the floor," he said, already rolling his robe up for a pillow.

"It's big enough for us both," Tryphon said in that same voice. "Just so long as you don't get any ideas."

"Of course not," Fahd returned without allowing his relief to show as he eased beneath the covers. As the last daylight began to fade, Tryphon slid into the bed and spooned up next to him. The alcohol took over for them, promptly knocking both of them out until morning.

"There you are!" Lion-O shouted as a severely battered Tygra emerged from the fringe of the Unicorn Forest. The man was covered in wounds and bruises... and were a couple of his claws missing?!

"How rough WERE they in there?!" Cheetara demanded, confused and outraged. Tygra made the last few feet in a stumble, his chest heaving.

"Not them..." he said between gulps of air. "Captured..." Lion-O shared a worried look with Cheetara before locking eyes firmly on Tygra again. "Mutant... got them..."

"THAT one," Cheetara snarled. "Where is he?"

"Dead..." Lion-O noted the wince of shame on Tygra's face. "He..." Tygra's breathing became gradually steadier, his words clearer. "He caught them, drugged them into telling him about the Annointment Trial."

"And altered the traps," Lion-O finished. "Did he tell you where they are?"

"No, he... he died before he could tell me."

"The thundrainium pit nearby?" Cheetara mused. "If so..." she trailed off, looking at Lion-O with a worried expression. He reached to his hip out of habit, only to find the Sword of Omens absent and cursed himself for not carrying it along.

"We have to be certain," he said as a strange energy grew within him. A certainty came with it of what he should, and could, do. He didn't question it as he raised his sword hand to the sky, and the energy built. "SWORD OF OMENS!" he shouted, "COME TO MY HAND! I, LION-O, KING OF THUNDERA, COMMAND IT!" His voice boomed into the open air as loud and clear as if he were wearing another amplifier patch on his throat and the power burst forth, invisible and covering his skin in an electric tingle.

In the still and silent Sword Chamber, the Eye of Thundera emitted its growl and light, filling the shadowed space about the stand on which it rested with brilliant crimson. The light pulsed with the beating of its bearer's heart and the growl crested into a mighty roar. The Sword, its conduit, became a golden light in the center of a sea of fire that coalesced into a golden radiance which streaked through the walls of the Chamber, of Cat's Lair, into the waning day and toward the one who had called it.

The Sword of Omens appeared in his hand from a streak of blinding light and the power reached a crescendo, but not its peak, Lion-O knew. He brought the Eye to his own and peered through the crossbars.

"SWORD OF OMENS! GIVE ME SIGHT BEYOND SIGHT!"

"What in the..." Lion-O began as he beheld the scene before him. He felt detached, ghost-like as he turned about. The Eye's second sight had never done anything like this! Deep within, he understood what this was. The Eye wasn't just showing him where WilyKit and WilyKat were being held, it had taken him there in some strange way. He saw everything in grayscale, silent and unmoving. The only thing moving at all in this strange snapshot, he realized, was him.

The power awakening within him guided his steps, his actions. The Eye was communicating with him on a level it never had before, and Lion-O couldn't help but feel a trace of fear that the power immediately quashed. Was THIS the power of his bloodline? What kings before him could call upon the Eye this way? He knew to take it up with Jagara, and that she would FINALLY be able to give him some answers.

A bridge reached from the jagged stone ringing the pit to the island in the center. A dome-like structure sat in its middle, and he felt WilyKit and WilyKat within it. Their life pulses were weaker, but still there. He set foot on the bridge when it seized his attention and called out several places.

Mines, he thought. That Mutant rigged this thing to explode! It all made sense in this weird stretch of time. Lion-O could see all the planted explosives, could deduce their intent to spill them all into the molten thundrainium below. He didn't feel the effects as he strode across it to the small dome. He ducked into the entrance to see the twins bound back-to-back and visibly weak. Lion-O touched one of the stones which comprised their dwelling and new information swarmed him. Most of the rocks were chock full of lead ore, which was blocking the worst of the thundrainium.

"Damn," he muttered after passing through the stones. The twins sat bound to each other, and both looking weak. He felt a tremendous pull and had no choice but to follow it...

Back to the grasslands. He took a minute to re-orient himself. Cheetara and Tygra were staring openly at him. "No time to talk!" he barked before leaping into the ThunderTank! "We have to MOVE!" Tygra and Cheetara joined him before he sent the ThunderTank roaring toward the location of the pit.

The sun bled from the sky as WilyKat's flagging reserves of strength came dangerously close to emptying. He still sat tied to his sister, neither of them able to escape the ropes.

"Sis," he said weakly.

"What?"

"We'll get outta this," he said, rather than tell her that he loved her. "We will."

"I know," she said from far away.

I want the power, he thought. Guyver...

The third shall rise from the king's own court.

"Why are we stopping here?" Cheetara asked as he brought the ThunderTank to the edge of the pit. He could feel the Thundrainium weakening him as he breathed in air that tasted of sulfur, but he knew he was right. She stayed in the tank, arms unconsciously wrapped about her abdomen. Tygra only looked up at him with a quizzical expression.

"I know what I'm doing," he said before raising the Sword to the sky.

"What happened to him?" Tygra whispered from the rear section of the tank.

"I have no idea," she said in awe as the light burst from the blade.

Lion-O thrust the blade skyward, foregoing the traditional build-up. "THUNDERCATS! HO!" The crimson light burst forth, blasting the igloo of lead-rich stones into nothingness. Several puffs of dust and smoe arose from the bridge as the beam passed over them.

WilyKat felt the strength return to him as soon as the red light washed over him. The ropes vanished into puffs of smoke just before he and his sister regained their feet. Their strength returned as the crimson glow bathed them, blocking out the effects of the thundrainium.

"Kat! Kit!" Lion-O's voice said. "Follow my voice!"

"What in the..." Kit began.

"You heard the man!" Their strength growing with each second, they followed the path of the Eye's light to emerge before Lion-O. Cheetara and Tygra leapt from the ThunderTank to rush over to them. WilyKat got one look at Tygra and felt the shame return. The effects of the pit returned, yet were muted due to the amount of lead ore which tended to ring such awful places.

"Thank Jaga you two are safe," Tygra said.

"We should be telling YOU that!" WilyKit exclaimed. "What did he DO?!"

"Later for that," Cheetara said. "Let's leave this hateful place."

"Here," Kat said, hiding his true feelings as he removed his insignia. "You HAD to have gotten out before sundown if you're here now." Kit followed suit, both offering the injured man's reward. Tygra accepted them before they joined the collection about his waist.

"Thank you," he said.

Night had fallen before their return. Tygra and the twins were safely in the Medical Wing. The former would be allowed to heal before facing his next trial. The latter two again showed no signs of thundrainium poisoning. It struck Lion-O with a strange sense of Deja Vu. He stood on the observational platform atop the Lair's head, staring up at the stars. So many questions regarding the new level of power displayed by the Eye haunted him despite Jagara's promise of an explanation in the morning. Cheetara was in their quarters, fast asleep. Even Jaga did not appear to offer guidance.

"I was told of today's events," Claudis said as he stepped onto the platform. Lion-O remained silent as his father drew up beside him. "It's every father's dream to see his son exceed him."

"None of that ever happened for you?"

"Nothing even remotely similar," he replied. "Whatever your connection with the Eye is, mine would never have matched it. Of course," he went on, "I never had cause to use it as much as you had to. That might have something to do with it. Or not."

"Father?"

"Son," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "the only ones who truly know the secrets of the Sword and the Eye are our ancient ancestors. Of which Jagara is one."

"Why is only her name known, then?"

"The trouble with history is that it's written in the past. We have to take the word of people who lived long ago, whose words have been folded and spindled by generations of re-telling. Just as our own times will suffer such a fate for our people in the far-off future. The only record, TRUE record, is the Book of Omens."

"You've read it, Father?"

"The parts it allowed me to read. I know that's confusing, but the Book is perhaps the most confusing artifact of our past. Not even Jaga was able to fully plumb its secrets. The wisest of us all, he merely scratched the surface."

"Shit."

"Son..."

"'Whiskers' just doesn't seem to cut it here."

"True." The strange moment of levity passed. "That human boy will play a large role in things to come."

"I know. Not all of our people are happy with him being here."

"Not all of them are happy with the locals living here. The one thing we need to forget is our traditional Us-Them mentality. It served us well on Thundera, but it won't on Third Earth. I heard a replay of your first speech. Very well done, especially about how they lived here before we did."

"It's true..."

"I know. Son, you're doing the best you can by our kin, and the locals. The people love and trust you. Not all of them will, though."

"So, what do I do?"

"Perhaps I should let Jagara tell you what she needs to before I offer my opinion."

=======================================================s


	4. Forging a Hawk's Wings

ThunderCats

Bio-Booster Armor Guyver

The Coming Darkness

Episode Four

"It's so good be back home, isn't it, Try?" Fahd asked as they neared the outer perimiter of the colony. Both men were burdened with bulging sacks strapped to their shoulders and hips. Fabrics, cheeses, even maps curled into tubes at their sides of lands no Thunderian had yet explored. Also, vital information.

"It'll be good to get off my damn feet," Tryphon groused in his usual tone. "Why couldn't they have at least given us a mule?!" The pair had parted with the caravan of traders where the route came nearest to their home.

"They..."

"Needed them to carry all their crap. I know, I know!" Tryphon's exclamation caught the attention of the two guards, Lynx and a male Cheetah. Neither wore armor aside from leather, yet each had a sword at his hip.

"Somethin' the matter?" the Cheetah asked once they were inside normal speaking distance. Fahd adjusted his pack and offered a sheepish grin.

"My partner is just weary. We've had a long journey." The sun was reaching its noonday aperture, the air redolent with the noise of people and scents of growing things. Spring was, in his opinion, getting off to a smashing start. "I brought you something, Renard," Fahd said as he reached into the pouch on his left hip and produced a small parcel. The Cheetah accepted it, untying the string to reveal the crushed yellow material within. "You said you liked spicy food."

"Holy SHIT!" he exclaimed on placing a small portion on his tongue.

"It's called habanero pepper."

"Bit much for ya?" the Lynx named Porval asked with a smirk.

"Always loved a challenge," Renard wheezed before re-tying the parcel. "Thanks, Fahd."

"You're welcome. If it's not too much trouble, could you please arrange an audience with His Majesty as soon as possible?" Fahd could feel Try's incredulous stare. "It's very important."

"What about?" Porval asked with concern at the edge of his voice.

"We have several maps of the surrounding countryside, as well as information regarding the location of Oswald Lisker and the current circumstances of Grune."

"Well..." Both guards paused a moment before gaping at the pair of men. "Run that by me again?" Fahd did so.

"Fuck me running," Renard said before dashing to a comm-panel set within the stone archway. He spoke in hushed, hurried tones before the voice of Sir Tygra exclaimed "WHAT?!" then barked for them to be escorted to Cat's Lair. Four young kittens appeared and began to relieve them of thier burdens. "We'll make sure these get to your shop," Renard said as the young ones scampered off. "Sir Tygra just cleared a spot for you."

"Then we'd best not keep him waiting," Fahd said with a nod before passing between them.

"As if my feet didn't hurt enough," Tryphon said as they took the stone-paved path leading to Cat's Lair. "But you just HAD to go and drag ME into Cat's Lair!"

"Oh, stop it, you," Fahd said, grinning down at his diminutive lover. "You would have been called into the Royal Hall all the same."

"I still want to rest my feet." The rest of the trip to the Lair passed in silence until Sho emerged and hailed them.

"How was that Watershed place?" he asked. Fahd felt Tryphon grow stiff.

"It was a rather good place, all in all," he said. "Oh, I have something for you."

"Huh?" Fahd reached into his sapphire robe and retrieved a vial of viscous liquid on a chain. "This warms on contact with skin. It's a massage oil."

"O... kay..." Sho said warily as he accepted it into his hands.

"I hope you find it useful," Fahd explained while ignoring Tryphon's exasperated groan.

"Um... Thank you," Sho said lamely. "So, I have to get to the Forge. Good to see you back!" Sho called as he jogged toward the far bank of stairs and vanished down the one leading to Sir Bengali's forge.

"You are incorrigible," Try nearly growled as they resumed their march to the Royal Hall.

"Huh?"

"Are you so desperate that you'd try to vicariously involve yourself in other people's relationships because ours isn't going fast enough?" The hurt in those words brought Fahd up short.

"Not at all," Fahd replied. "If you must know, the Vanguard asked me to keep an eye out for such a thing."

"You... wait, what?"

"How would I know anything about Sho and Myrlha's intimate time together?" Fahd asked reasonably and truthfully. "I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd care about it." They resumed their march down increasingly rich carpeting and busts of historical Thunderians between ornate pillars which stretched from floor to ceiling.

"I..." Fahd leaned down and stole a quick kiss from him, heartened at his attempt at a response before rising again. "You should learn to trust me a bit more, eh?" Tryphon blushed and remained silent the rest of the way to the Royal Hall.

Cheetara sat upon her throne, bored to tears. It had been barely twenty minutes since Jagara had announced herself ready to recieve Lion-O for an explanation of the Book of Omens. She had wanted to attend, yet the duties of a monarch had prevented it. As such, she had remained in the Royal Hall and had pored over reports which left her longing for action. Her stomach twinged as her and Lion-O's cub kicked yet again and a hand shot to her rounding belly. Their cub was growing quickly within her.

Cheetara looked up as the doors to the Royal Hall opened to admit a clearly agitated Tygra before two other men. A Tyger clad in blue robes preceeded a young WildCat man who looked as if he wished he were anywhere else. She adjusted herself into the plush throne as they drew near and knelt.

"I'm told you have important information," she said before quickly re-adjusting her hips.

"Forgive us," the Tyger said, "but we were told..."

"To expect Lion-O?" she finished. "He's... currently busy." She resisted the urge to adjust her increasingly pregnant frame again, transferring the desire to the hand which re-adjusted her crown atop her head. "So, what can I do for you?"

Lion-O goggled at the fountain in the center of the sequestered room Jagara had claimed for herself. Two women were twined about each other in glimmering marble in a pose that could not be mistaken for anything other than erotic. Twin fountains of clear water flowed from their mouths, posed as if in preparation for a deep kiss, and flowed down their stone breasts to a basin at their feet.

"In my position," Jagara' voice began as she emerged from behind the fountain, "It is often difficult to engage in carnal needs." She came fully into view, still clad in the abbreviated Egyptian garb she had worn on their first meeting. "I was still able to satisfy... certain curiosities I had in my younger days."

"I see," Lion-O said lamely before tearing his eyes away from the statue. "I have come as requested," he said at length, drawing on his royal background to lend authority to his words.

"Please," she said, "Follow me." Lion-O kept his gaze from the section of her rear which writhed beneath the small skirt she inisted on wearing unitl a mostly unlit chamebr greeted them. In the distance rested a golden book on a marble pedestal. Lion-O felt the Sword growl at his hip as he drew closer.

"The Book of Omens," he said in a hushed whisper.

"Yes," Jagara replied. "Generation of our history, all recorded, but in far more than wrting." Jagara sauntered up to him, pulling a golden key from between her ample breasts. "With this key," she began, "and your Sword, you can enter the book"

"Enter it?"

"The book is an archive" she began, staring into his eyes, "yet far more than that. I cannot fully explain it, but I will try." Jagara sauntered up to the pedestal in the cone of white light, staring down at the book with an inscrutable expression. "With the Sword, you can enter the book, but only the key will get you past the Guardian."

"To do what?"

"To enter our past."

Lion-O sputtered for a moment at the import her words. "You mean this book can travel through time?"

"No. Time travel magics are far too dangerous. I know," she said with a raised hand, "that Mumm-Rana and I used such to propel Sho into a possible future. Where such travel becomes a real danger is when one arrives in the past."

"Paradoxes, right?" he asked with a chill settling in his spine.

"And the resistance of time to them," Jagara replied. "I am no expert on the more intimate workings of the universe, but I know that altering the past has outcomes we simply cannot predict."

"What are you getting at?"

"The Book of Omens does not allow time travel in the strictest sense," she said. "Instead, it allows whomever enters it to experience our recorded history first-hand. It... recreates the time you wish to visit. I believe you would call it a simulator?"

"Okay," he replied, his eyes locked on the book and his hand on the hilt of the Sword of Omens. "For what purpose? Education alone can't be it."

"You are correct, my king," she said. "The book is the ultimate marriage of Thunderian sorcery and Thunderian science. It was crafted in a long lost golden age of our people, meant to serve as an everlasting record. But, known only to my own bloodline, there is another purpose."

"And that is?"

"The Book waits for one man to enter it. I belive that man is you."

"What..." Lion-O stared at the golden-bound volume atop its pedestal. The gleam of its golden covers both enticed and taunted him. Jagara offered the key, which he accepted. It was cold in his hand, almost frozen.

"The Key," she began, "can open the book, and give you acess to the Guardian. It will need to see both the Sword and the Key to grant you access to our knowledge. To get to where I think you should be, you will need something else. Proof of your right to plumb it's depths. You will know what it is when the Guardian asks of it." Lion-O nodded before walking toward the Book of Omens. The Key entered the lock, and the world transformed.

"Repeat that?" Cheetara asked as she sat above the kneeling forms of Fahd and Tryphon.

"We stayed in the home of Guyver Two," Fahd said. "He is in the trading town of Watershed." Cheetara leaned back in her throne as best she was able.

"Have you uncovered his plans?"

"So far as we saw, he has no designs against us," Fahd replied. "Lisker asked no questions about the Colony, nor did Maria or Natalie."

"Who is this Natalie?"

"A human woman from a tribe of Warrior Maidens," Fahd explained. "She had been a pawn in a scheme led by a woman of their tribe, by the name of Solange, to gain control of that woodland kingdom. Though Solange now reigns there, Lisker keeps their arrows away from Watershed."

"And his... muskets?" Fahd nodded. "Away from them." Cheetara called up the diagrams on her personal padd, loaded with weapons data from the Tuska archives. "Primitive weapons, but effective. Are you sure he has no designs concerning our well-being?"

"Positive, Your Highness," Fahd said. "Even if he did, these weapons would barely be of any use to him."

"True," she conceeded. "If he truly wished us harm, he would come himself to challenge Sho." Cheetara shook her head slightly. "Now, what of Grune?"

"Kittens!" Avril cried out. The young of the Colony sat before her in the near-claustophobic room of the school. Desks were set in rows leading to the rear door. Avril took stock once more of the blackboard at the rear of her elevated podium. Just behind her stood Etain and Myrlha, the latter sans ThunderCat emblem. The building had once been designated a storage facility and had been hastily retrofitted into a school. Avril's own long desk sat off to her right, sunshine beaming in through the street-facing windows.

"Good morning, Miss Avril," they all said in unison. Avril stepped from behind her desk, her skirt and blouse crisp.

"To my right," she said, waving a hand to a similarly clad Etain, "is Miss Etain. Say hello, children."

"Hello, Miss Etain."

"Thank you," Avril continued. "Over here is Miss Myrlha. Now, you may know her as a ThuderCat, but in here she is Miss Myrlha."

"Hello, Miss Myrlha," they said. There was no confusion regarding Myrlha's status in their voices and she envied them their adaptability somewhat.

"Today, we're here to get to know each other," she said. "We all came from a... bad envrironment." It was understatement writ large, and she knew it. "I want you all to know that from here, our futures contain possibilities. It will take a lot of hard work, both on your parts and ours, but we are up to this challenge. I'll begin today with the basics. Some of you may know these things, some may not. I feel it's best that we all start on the same page. If you'll turn to your Third Earth Guides," she said, unearthing her own Teacher's Edition of the book hastily compiled by the ThunderCats, "we shall begin learning about our new world." Learning about their old homeworld, she thought, could wait. These children needed to learn about the immediate dangers of the world around them and how to interact with the people who shared their new home. Avril silently thanked Tygra and Laheela for talking to Bolkin and Wollo merchants in the colony and asking them to come in to provide local views. She saw the students ready the relevant documents for study. King Lion-O had even tasked Snarf to the school eatery to prepare healthy meals. It had been a task Snarf had taken to with gusto. Feeding people was something the king's former nursemaid loved to do.

"We'll start with Chapter One," she called, "The Wollos..."

"Oh... Shit..." Lion-O said on viewing the massive sculture. The Eye stood encircled by four serpentine dragons, who began moving at his approach. The lower-left head snaked out towards him, its sulfuric breath stealing the air from his lungs. Each head studied him, and each seemed more than ready to strip his flesh from his bones. Space was meaningless in the eternal night in which this oasis of light existed.

"Hast Thou the Key?" the nearest head asked.

"Here," he said, presenting the golden Key in his hand. The snout of the Dragon sniffed it before yanking its head up with the other three following suit and fixing their crimson eyes on him.

"Thy scent is pleasing to us," all four said in unison. "Yes. You are of the blood."

"What?" Lion-O asked.

"Long have we waited for thee," they all said as the slit in the Eye statue began to glow with a soft light. "One last test shall ye face. Shed thy blood upon thy blade." The tone of command in the voice was irresistable. Lion-O pressed a thumb to the Sword, allowing a bead of crimson to appear. At once, a drakine head snaked out and stretched a tongue over it.

"The Herald has emerged!" all four heads cried in unison before a doorway opened in the stone base beneath the Eye. "Enter, Son of Prophecy. Long has the king awaited you." Lion-O trod into the light, both curious and afraid of what he mght find.

The heat from the Forge was, as normal, nearly stifling. Already sweating, Sho stripped his blue tunic off before donning a pair of rough-hewn gloves. The Forge itself rested beneath the Lair, a circular chamber bathed in crimson light from the glowing heat of the forge in the center. The cast-iron chamber rested in a recessed pit and even at a distance its heat was baking. Bengali stood before it, shirtless as well, hammering away at a piece of glowing-hot metal.

"More plowshares?" he asked as he wiped sweat off his brow and moved to a pile of unfinished metal.

"Panthro's handling swords these days," Bengali said before swinging his hammer down once more. "One less thing on our to-do list."

"At least we got Panthro's work order done," Sho said as he grasped a cold sheet of iron in a large set of tongs and lowered it into the fire. "That one was a bitch."

"You didn't have to mix the metals for the alloys," Bengali said. "He must think I'm a miracle-worker."

"You got it done," Sho replied as he heated the metal.

"And spent a week away from Darin. I don't mind the workload, but I wanna be with my kid!"

"At least you can have one."

"Aw, shit. Sho, I'm sorry..."

"No worries," he replied with a tone sunnier than he felt. "So, how're you and Pumyra getting on?"

"Pretty good," Bengali said as he hoisted the heated metal from the forge and brought his hammer down on it. Sparks flew from where cold iron met near-molten metal. Sho brought his own hammer down, shaping the plowshare held in the tongs in his left hand. "She's feeling frisky again."

"You didn't complain last time, as I recall."

"I didn't already have a kid then, either," Bengali said as he brought his hammer down. "Darin's just sleeping through the night now."

"Keep your rocket in your pocket, as they said here in the States," Sho said. He lifted the plowshare, finely formed from his hammer, and lowered it into the trough of water to cool it amid a cloud of steam. "Not exactly armor plating for the ThunderTank, is it?"

"That was just blanks," Bengali said. "At least you didn't have to worry about proper alloys. That shit's ALWAYS annoying." Sho cast a glance at the Forge's Clean Room, where Bengali labored to create the alloys Panthro needed. "Not looking forward to what he'll need for our first FTL ship." Benglai glanced upward before rolling his eyes. "We're gonna have to mine asteroids to find the ores we need for me to develop the metals we need to buid ships that can go that fast. And the're not as important as the energy sheilds, the deflectors... And here we are with a damn forge!"

"Making blades for the fields can be kinda distracting," Sho offered lamely. Rivulets of sweat ran down his hard chest, the hammer rising and falling in a steady cadence. "Wonder how they go through so many?"

"Soil can dull a blade quick," Bengali said, grateful for the small distraction. "Speaking of..."

"I finished those yesterday," Sho said, indicating the blades which had been sent in for re-sharpening. "Those vibro-blade blanks," Sho shook his head at the thought. "Never thought my own weapons would be manufactured."

"If anyone can do it," Bengali replied while sparks flew from another blow of his hammer, "Panthro can. I just hope no one cuts his own head off using those things."

"Same here." Sho grasped another roughly shaped piece of metal with the tongs in his gloved hand and lowered it into the fire. He stoked the flames with the pedal near his right foot, the metal glowing red hot as he did so. Tiny embers flew from the flames as he did so, winking out like crimson fireflies.

"Got a date in mind?" Bengali asked to fill the silence.

"Not yet," Sho said as the shaped metal heated. "A lot on our plate right now. I'm thinking once school's out."

"Myrlha helping to teach kids," Bengali said as he extacted the red-hot shape of metal and readied his hammer. Words suddenly left him.

"Yeah," Sho said, his own shape of metal reaching optimum heat. The human's shoulders slumped a bit before firming up once more.

"If you wanna talk..."

"Thanks," Sho said after a moment's struggle. Bengali nodded, said gesture unseen by Sho, as he brought his hammer down on the heated metal which now rested on his anvil.

Cheetara closed her eyes in thought as she processed the story told to her by Fahd and Tryphon. Grune truly was alive and at the head of another army, albeit one more poorly armed this time. A metal arm, that detail had stood out. She made a note to ask Panthro and Sho about the likelihood of the traitor having found a relic of Second Earth. The great doors swung open, interrupting her reverie as Tygra strode the length of the red carpet. She hid a grimace as he knelt, their insistence of first-name basis while not in the presence of the civillian population could not dissuade the others from genuflecting in the Royal Hall, and rose at her beckoning.

"You got all that, I trust?"

"So, it's official. Grune lives." Tygra snorted. "The reaper overlooked him."

"Cockroaches are easier to get rid of, it seems." She adjusted her position upon the throne before giving it up as a lost cause and rising. The mortification Tygra had to have felt about his queen rising before him just barely showed through. "I may be queen, now, but I am also pregnant and that chair is murder on my butt."

"I understand, Cheetara."

"I need your thoughts on this." She stepped down from the dias of the twin thrones, stepping gingerly as the muscles in her lower back protested at this newest abuse.

"At the risk of sounding like a sycophant," he began, "Grune would be insane to attack us. Not only are we better armed, our people are far better motivated. They rose up for their freedom, and they'll fight twice as hard for their homes."

"That still doesn't make up for a lack of a military."

"We both know who does, and I don't think he'll have any problems fighting against his own kind. Especially if this 'Clutch' is as bad as Tryphon and Fahd reported." She pressed her hands against her lower back and kneaded the soreness there. "The prosthetic arm, however, is troubling. He COULD have found a relic that fit his needs, but the odds against that are staggering."

"A new player, or an old one."

"Mumm-Ra didn't do technology," Tygra replied as he pensively stroked his chin. She took note of the two missing claws, just beginning to grow back. "A player who prefers to stay in the shadows," he said eventually.

"We can worry about that later," she said as the pain eased. "Grune will attack us. The only questions are when and how."

"Your enemy will not attack where you are strongest, but where you are weakest," Tygra said. "If you do not know where you are weakest, rest assured your enemy will."

"That really doesn't sound like you," Cheetara replied with a slight teasing note.

"It was in a book Turmagar gave Lion-O. 'The Art of War'. Thundera could have used a few more like this Sun Tzu."

"I'm grateful Plun-Darr had so few. So, where are we weakest, if not here?"

"We're weakest in trade with other places on the continent..." Both snapped their eyes to one another's.

"Trade routes..." Cheetara gasped.

"Interrupting caravans. It wouldn't just hamper us, it would weaken us politically. If we can't defend the routes..."

"Others lose confidence in us, not to mention vital trade they need as much as we do. What's the duty roster for tomorrow?"

"We have the twins available," Tygra reported after checking his datapad.

"They're cleared on the HoverCats, right?'

"Yes, just two weeks ago. Where will you be sending them?"

"To talk to an old friend who knows more about trade routes than anyone else I know."

"Ah, Salvador," he said in understanding. "I agree. The Berbils recently helped complete restoration work to his town. They report he and his family are quite well."

"Employing spies, are we?"

"Merely checking in on old friends."

Penal Colony 775 had been carved, tunnelled, blasted, and forged from an asteroid of tungsten, some thought left over from the creation of the universe, and had more than a few names due to its semi-hemispherical design. The most popular was the Avocado due to its resemblance to a pitted fruit in cross-section, which had unseated the Grey Penal Planet that month. The dome at the very top, fully four thousand meters wide at its base, served as the central command hub for the decks and decks of interred criminals, terrorists, mercenaries and the like. CONTROL guards still patrolled the corridors amid soldiers armed with phased plasma rifles and orders to kill on sight.

At its apex rested the former office of Commandant Vladimir Lenin. The dark, rich wood panels had been stripped in favor of military grey steel. The ornate desk remained, stained walnut and older than anything else on the entire metal rock. The endless field of stars beyond the tri-polymer windows did not attract the slightest bit of attention from the man now seated behind said desk.

He was wide of frame from decades spent in military service to the Pan-Galactic Federation, only showing the earliest signs of age despite his nearly seventy years. Hard muscle still graced his bones. His pate was entirely bald, having felt that military buzz-cuts were no longer a necessity for a man of his service length. No brown spots were evident on his exposed skin, or on unexposed skin for that matter. A broom-head moustache adorned his upper lip beneath a nose deformed from many breaks and eyes that were sharp as a scalpel. The left breast of his uniform threated to sag under the weight of the "salad bar" of ribbons which represented numerous decorations earned. The glow of the monitor on the far wall bathed his angular face in pale light. He watched as the teal-armored figure ripped apart the Vertis and many of its crew, bursts of bright blue beams doing nothing to its carapace.

"A near-perfect weapon," Sven Thorson said. From the shadows emerged a woman as tall as she was beautiful even in military drab. The jacket fit her athletic torso perfectly, skirt ending just above the knees and legs encased in sheer dark stockings that ended in sensible flat shoes. Her platinum hair was up in a bun, piercing blue eyes reigning above angular features.

"Certainly fearsome, sir," Sif Gunnarsdottir said, her voice as crisp as the creases of her uniform.

"A Ganymede-Class warshp. Illegal upgrades everywhere, and this... THING destroyed it!" Sven leaned back into the overstuffed chair. "These Thunderians are in possession of a walking super-weapon."

"A situation which, I assume, you find unacceptable." Sif kept her tone clipped and formal, devoid of emotion. It was one of the things Sven found rather appealing in an adjunct.

"Search CONTROL's records for their best recruiter," he said. Other than a quick blink, Sif gave no outward reaction.

"Of course, sir. And, when this... thing..."

"Young human boy. Name of Sho Fukamachi," Sven corrected. "I had some men due for R&R when we picked up Shiner, had them ask around. Even heard he's got a cat-girl to keep his bed warm. A ThunderCat, no less. Bit of a national hero in those parts."

"Hence the diplomatic approach. As I was saying before, sir, what about when that fails?"

"CONTROL had something interesting going some thrity-odd years ago," Sven Thorson said. "Some kind of super-cop program. It went to hell right after it went to prototype. Seems like recently deceased cops didn't take well to finding themseves waking up to mostly metal bodies and computer-augmented brains. The last one damn near blew up the entire facility and the plug was pulled." He began the playback of the Vertis assault again. "I had it quietly reinstated about four years ago."

"Oh?"

"Had to keep it compartmentalized, no one in the loop who didn't need to be there. Research like this only pays off if it's done before some soft-hearted wing-nut blows the whistle."

"So, it's done."

"Nearly. We're ready to go to prototype. My people assure me all the problems of the first generation are fixed. We just need some recruits, and I have just the ones in mind."

"What's the name of this project?" Sif asked.

"I'll brief you in fully once our volunteers are confirmed, but we've taken to calling it the Silverhawks Initiative."


	5. Meeting a Former King

ThunderCats

Bio-Booster Armor Guyver

The Coming Darkness

Episode Five

Lion-O, at first, did not recognize the scent of the wood being burned that carried on a warm breeze beneath the pale golden sky. He took a step forward on the worn footpath that ran straight through the sea of wild grasses that swayed with each puff of wind, racking his brains for the familiar aroma. He thought of the times he had snuck into Snarf's kitchens as a kitten, the cozy warmth of the wood-fired stoves he'd kept for meals that demanded such preparation.

Tamba wood! he realized with widened eyes. Native to Thundera, its slightly nutty smell was an undertone to the scent of wood being consumed by flame. As he continued along the path he detected the scents of roasting meats that set his stomach to violently rumbling. Meats that had vanished along with his homeworld roasted in the near distance, likely out in the open if the smell was so strong. Snarf had done an admirable (in Tygra's opinion. In Lion-O's opinion "heroic" was a better fit) job of learning his way around preparing Third Earth foodstuffs, yet the smells brought back such memories of Thundera that he nearly felt tears sting his eyes.

Home.

Lion-O shook himself, forced his legs to slow. He reminded himself that the world which surrounded him was a construct of the Book of Omens, that it wasn't real. It was, however, a damn good simulation. The Karraro Plains, maybe? He'd never had cause to leave the Capital in his youth, and barely any to leave the Lair in general, but the vast emptiness about him seemed strange. How far back, exactly, did this represent?

He found his answer nearly forty minutes later. The village was small, putting it politely. The collection of buildings made from rough-hewn wood correlated with the stumps of trees he'd seen as he'd drawn closer. The stonework with which he was so familiar was not in evidence. What his mind equated to shacks were arranged in a circular pattern about a cleared space in which several fire pits cooked meats rotating on spits turned by women of various racial lineages and stonework bowls containing broths and vegetables. The ground had been beaten to bare dirt by nearly a hundred pairs of bare feet. Not one person, man woman or child, carried an ounce of fat. These people, in their clothes made mostly of whatever fabrics could be wrapped about a body, had no time for luxuries or indulgence. Some did not even bother covering themselves, walking about nude as though clothing were an inconvenience. Their bodies, while leaner, were also smaller. Diet, Lion-O realized, had something to do with that. On closer inspection, most of the food was stews. On tables near the outer right edge of the cookspace, men and women butchered carcasses and packed the meats in salts to preserve it. He was witnessing, he realized, the storing of food for the winter months.

I wonder how long that's gonna stretch, he thought as he gazed at the longest structure. It seemed like a lot of food all at once, but spaced out over months at a time? It seemed barely adequate. He focused on the structure which rested at the head of the ancient village. A meeting hall, maybe? On the double doors, though, was carved a symbol he was intimately familiar with, identical to the symbol which now rode his chest rather than his waist.

"The name Cat's Lair didn't catch on until damn near the end of my reign." The sudden voice startled Lion-O, who spun about in a defensive posture. The man before him was of Lion lineage, though nearly half his own size. A wrap of red fabric was draped from right shoulder to left waist above a simple kilt. His lower legs and feet were as bare as his arms. A kindly smile rested on his face, yet the golden eyes held his fast. "We used to call it the Great Hall."

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Yes, you have the royal authority voice down pat," the other Lion said. "I was honestly unsure if my bloodline would continue to this point."

"You're... my ancestor?" He studied the man's face more closely, finally finding it in his memory. The image of the proud and regal man he'd seen clashed with the lean and slightly dirty image before him, yet it was unmistakeable. "High King Leoran?"

"High King," Leoran snorted in confirmation. "I was called a lot of things when I sat on the throne, and not all of them flattering, but the whole High King deal didn't show up until generations later. Never was clear on which damn fool thought it up." Leoran gave a wry smile. "Not quite what you expected, huh?"

"No disrespect, but..." To Lion-O's relief and puzzlement, Leoran let out a hearty laugh.

"That's the trouble with history," he said. Lion-O rose to his full height, startled that Leoran came barely up to his torso. "It's written by people, and people are biased. Their opinions color the events, taint them you might say. That's one of the reasons the Book exists. A true record, and quite a bit more."

"I'm no history buff," Lion-O began, "but this tracks with what I learned of life during early Unification."

"Only because it's how your mind perceives it. Trust me, bringing our races together under one banner wasn't something that happened overnight. It also didn't happen without some bloodshed. Keeping it together, well, that spilled more still. Establishing the Code, brace yourself for irony, required breaking it more than once."

"I shouldn't be surprised by that..."

"But you still are. That's to be expected. Walk with me, son." Lion-O fell in step beside the far shorter king, their path winding through the primitive example of Thunderian society. "Don't worry, they won't notice us."

"I was told I'd be able to interact..."

"Not here," Leoran said simply. "This part of the Book isn't like the rest. It's not even linked to the rest. It was set aside for the one king who would need what's kept here. I'm sorry that it has to be you."

"Why?" Lion-O tried to dodge a kitten which had darted before him only to find that he passed through with no reistance.

"Because it means dark times are afoot," Leoran replied. "That you'll need what the Eye of Thundera gave me so long ago."

"Power."

"Power like you wouldn't believe, like it never gave to any of my descendants save for you. Son, you have only begun to tap into what the Eye can really do. What you did to that Mutant Army... heh. You have NO idea."

"How could you know that?!" Lion-O exclaimed.

"I told you. The Book of Omens is a repository of our true history. It's recorded by the most incorruptible witness ever to behold time and place. The Eye of Thundera." Lion-O stood rooted in place, meters from the steps which led to the doors of the Great Hall, stunned into silence. "Looks like your first lesson begins now." Leoran turned about and eased himself down to sit on the topmost step. "The Eye, the Key, and the Book are all part of a whole. The Eye sees, and passes what it sees to the Book. The Key lets one into the Book. What's written on the pages themselves is just examples of our accomplishments. What's inside, that's where our story is told." Leoran fixed his eyes squarely on Lion-O's. "Only the Eye can affect the world within the Book as well as the world without. It's raw power controlled by will. Both yours, and its own. Only the Key can let one into the Book. Only the Book can relate all our secrets. Only the king can call upon all of it." Leoran paused for a breath. "But only the Eye can know if the king needs to meet me."

"What's your role in this?" Lion-O asked, now thoroughly shaken.

"That's a damn good question," Leoran said. "What you're seeing is an avatar. I was based off of High King Leoran, his looks, his memories, his knowledge, his experiences. But, I'm not actually him. Leoran's essence has long since moved on to its eternal reward. Or damnation. I really don't wanna know which. Through me, you interact with the Core. The Book's... operating system, I think you'd say." Leoran's speech became, by increments, more mechanical as he went on while still retaining clear inflections of tones and words. "I'll respond as he would and, if it makes it easier to think of me as Leoran, feel free to do so. There's a lot we have to cover, and the easier it is for you to deal with me, the better."

"I need to know all of it now. If you're..."

"Hold on, son," Leoran, or his avatar, said. "You deal with me for a reason. The Core is pure knowledge. If you got hold of that without anything to filter it, to give you what you need, you'd get all of it at once. Thousands and thousands of years of pure knowledge. Your mind would snap like a dry twig. The Core doesn't hold back. That's why you need me."

"Fine," Lion-O said, relenting. "I have a question."

"Ask."

"I was told the Book was forged in a golden age of... our..." Leoran's face grew taut as his words continued.

"Look around. Does any of this look like a golden age to you?" Leoran shook his head as he rose from the steps. "I see. Jagara told you that. I entrusted the earliest of her bloodline to guard the Three."

"What did she mean?"

"The Three," Leoran began, "all come from Before."

"Before what?"

"Recorded time. Our race." Leoran shuddered. "The Golden Age this Jagara talked about is the Before Time. Before we became what we are." Leoran rose from his perch. "No more talk about that."

"But..."

"No, son, you're not here for that." Leoran's tone made it clear that no arguement would persuade him otherwise. How, he thought, could a record of this Before Time exist if it came before their own race? Unless...

Unless it was made by a race that had come before his own.

With that unsettling thought in his mind, Lion-O followed Leoran through the double doors of the Great Hall.

Lion-O retched as the dank stench of mildew assaulted his nostrils and pressed the attack down his throat. The space about him was black, his only visual the faint aura of Leoran's avatar as it walked ahead of him. Vertigo lurked at the edges of his balance as their trek into blackness continued. All at once, shadow was replaced with dim light in a circular chamber. Resting on pedestals of a material that reminded him uncomfortably of flesh, was the Eye, unadorned by the Sword.

"It was in this chamber that I found it," Leoran said, turning to face him. "Deep beneath Thundera, in a cavern that still contained the scent of meat. That's what led me down here, thinking I had found a meal." Leoran stepped about the pedestal on which the Eye rested. "I couldn't see a foot around me, I was half-crazed with hunger, but my feet never found anything but solid ground beneath them." From behind came the scraping, uneven footsteps from beyond the corridor's mouth. A younger and scrawnier Leoran stumbled through, wild-eyed and manic.

Lion-O stepped closer to the pedestal just as the younger Leoran reached it. Beside the Eye, he noticed, were a plain orb of dull metal and a strip of unadorned gold. The image faded, replaced by a wooded glen. A roaring fire pushed back the night's shadows and set them dancing to its silent tune. A much more confident-looking Leoran stood facing a trio in the firelight. All four stood sky-clad in the warm night air.

"My first advisers," Leoran's avatar said. "Well, that's what they became." The avatar moved about the gathered Thunderians who were frozen in time. He paused by the lone female, a cream-skinned Jaguar whose firm breasts stood out in the light of the moon and the fire. Her body was lean and taut, her narrow eyes and sharp nose showing the barest hints of Jagara's features. "Nara, the shamaness," Leoran said as the other Leoran gave her the orb. "She crafted the Book, using that globe for the Core." He then stepped over to the one in the center, a burly Panther who didn't quite meet Panthro's bulk. "Korvat, master smith. It was he who forged the Sword and fit the Eye into its hilt." Leoran then stepped to the last of the trio, a Tyger who stood tall and proud. "Varto, master of puzzles. It was he who forged the key."

"How?" Lion-O asked. "How could they have known what to do with what you gave them?"

"The Eye," he said simply. "It told me. When I first touched it, I was... enlightened. Filled with knowledge, you might say." Leoran walked about the frozen tableaux, staring at the fully rendered images of the first ThunderCats. "I still don't know what the Eye truly is. It knows much, don't ever doubt that, and it guided me to having the Three made. I have no idea for whose purpose, though." The image faded again to be replaced with a battlefield. Bodies covered the bare dirt, the scent of ther blood which seeped into the earth acrid on the cool morning air.

"By Thundera..." Lion-O said before gagging on the miasma of copper and bile.

"I told you the path to what you call Unification had been a violent one," Leoran said as Lions, Tygers, Panthers, and Jaguars waged war against a tribe of Lynx heritage. "Some were reluctant to join. We won a few over with diplomacy. Others required... convincing."

"This is MURDER!" Lion-O roared, outraged as a Lion in mis-matched armor cut down a leather-clad Sabre.

"This is how the Code spread," Leoran said, his voice calm. "There are times when diplomacy just does not work. The Sabre clan... They never saw the light. Just kept throwing themselves against us again and again each time we tried to bring them into the fold. But, they never struck into our lands."

"What happened?"

"I got tired of such a waste of life," Leoran said. "It was pointless. How was I going to unify our race if I spent so much time warring against a stubborn holdout?" The scene of battle faded and Lion-O was more than glad to see it go. "Besides, I had another enemy to deal with." The charnel aroma of blood had just left his memory when another scene from history painted itself into so-called reality. Reptillians, Primates, Scavengers, and other clans he didn't recognize were massed for battle, bearing crude weapons and churning the ground to mud beneath their feet as they advanced.

"Mutants."

"No, son. Thunderians."

"Your report?" Sven Thorson asked as Sif drew near. His chair was turned away from the expensive desk, his soldier's eyes gazing out at the stars. He heard her stop a respectful distance from his desk before turning about to face her. The woman's attire was crisp and sharp as always, the skirt hugging her hips in a manner that was both professional and fetching. Were he a man a few dozen years younger, he thought idly, he'd be tempted to make their relationship a tad more than professional. Being a soldier did not preclude having hormones. If she noticed his eyes briefly taking her in, she did not show it.

"We have our recruits," she replied simply. Her clipped words could not completely hide the distaste she obviously felt about the manner of their selection. "Training accident out toward Ceti Alpha. The retrieval ship is currently making hyperspace jumps back here."

"Are preservation protocols being observed?"

"Yes, sir, to the letter."

"Good," Sven said, allowing himself to relax slightly. "I take it you disapprove?" Sif remained silent. "They signed up for military duty, they knew the risks. Besides, it's not like they have next of kin for us to worry about." Having no familial ties, or romantic ties, had been a major point in terms of selection. Most good soldiers had family and sweethearts to return to. Great ones had none. "All from the same unit?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hum. Damned lucky on that score," Sven said. "Give me the rundown." Sif briefly consulted her data pad before answering.

"Jonathan Quick," she began, "lieutenant in the 4th Ops Group, formerly Interplanetary Force H. Glowing reviews from all commanding officers he's served under."

"Real golden boy, eh?" He recalled the name vaguely.

"This training mission was to be his first real command situation."

"Poor bastard," Sven said with genuine sympathy.

"Sergeants Emily and William Hart."

"Couple?"

"Twins, but there have been rumors that their sibling relations might have gone into some rather taboo territory. Likely because they were always stationed and transferred together."

"Now that IS damned odd," Sven commented.

"No explanation is available for how their careers worked out that way," Sif explained. "Still and all, no relations except for each other." Sven found he had to bow to the circumstances. He needed bodies, and keeping them together could help keep them in line... Have to talk to R&D on that one, he thought.

"Colonel Jackson Smith..."

"Just a minute," he interjected with a raised hand. "What in the hell was a colonel doing reporting to a lieutenant?"

"He was on loan from 48th Tactical Fighter Wing," Sif explained. "Colonel Smith's specialty was in infiltration/extraction of assets though he was also a more than proficient pilot in other situations. Went by the handle of 'Bluegrass' for his love of hokey guitar music."

"We still need one more."

"We have him, sir, a Torvid."

Torvid, a Pan-Galactic Federation client world with asperations to full membership. Torvids were known for their brilliant analytical minds and adaptability. Along with their slight statures, pale skin, and lack of traditional verbal communication. It was a well known joke that Torvid was called the "Planet of the Mimes".

"Not sure if the process'll work on an alien," Sven said at length.

"Doctor Geist insists that it should," Sif said. "I took the liberty of asking. The unit took to calling him 'Kidd'." Which was hardly surprising, since humans could hardly make the precise tones which comprised a Torvid's true name. In dealings with the species, assigning traditional human names had been accepted to avoid the grave insult that came with mis-whistling a Torvid's actual moniker. On their part, most wore translators that converted their ululating tones into actual words based on mathematical algorithm. Though lacking in emotional context, communications were clear enough.

"How soon can we go to prototype?"

"Dr. Geist reports eight months."

"Good. Anything else?" On hearing her response of negative, he dismissed her and turned back to his view of the stars.

CONTROL actually thought, he mused, that they could create something like this with their limited assets. That thought still amazed him. But, CONTROL was now under military jurisdiction. And his own direct command. The cover story for the SilverHawks initiative was solid; robots programmed according to the mental algorithms of military personnel who showed exemplary conduct both under fire and in their personal lives. Paragons of what it meant to serve in the Pan Galactic Federation's military. Once the concept was proven, though, he would have to bring others in to the truth of how it happened. Sven smiled at that. He knew who he could trust, or intimidate, on the Ruling Council. Once the project was ramrodded through, he might even be able to deliver on the pitch of robots. And if not, well, would any of the pussies on the Council ever want to admit they'd allowed such research to take place? The public would never believe for a moment the Council had been fooled and enough careers would go up in flames to ignite a small star.

He was rather grateful to Mandora for blowing the whistle, allowing his takeover of CONTROL. Even moreso for involving those ThunderCats and exposing the existence of the Guyver. If the recruiter was able to persuade Sho to switch camps, and Mitchell Corman's reputation was that he could charm blood from a turnip, so much the better. If not, well, that would be what the SilverHawks were for. And good spin control. After all, who gave a shit about what happened on unaffiliated worlds?

In the next episode:

Lion-O learns more about the true history of Thundera, and begins his training to master the power of the Eye. As the days pass, an increasingly worried Cheetara forms up recruits to counter bandits which will disrupt trade between the colony and the native settlements of Third Earth. Still translating the book he was given by Prime Scholar Duncan, Sho finds the accountings within dubious while Mandora warns him about the recruiter Mitchell Corman. The bodies of the soldiers arrive, and the conversion begins. What is Sven Thorson's true aim, and what of Ratar-O? What secrets will he find in Baleful Swamp?


	6. Tainted Silver

"Thunderians?" Lion-O asked once the his powers of speech re-asserted themselves. Before him and the avatar of Leoran were samples of each of the clans of the Mutants of Plun-Darr. Covered in ragged strips of leathers and furs, and holding primitive stone-tipped clubs and knives, they were a motley lot until he looked at their faces. Determined, fierce, and defiant, though most had the sly look of habitual deceivers and cowards beneath that. The spines along the backs of the Reptillians were more pronounced than on modern Mutants, the edges sharper. Simians and Scavengers were more hunched of shoulder, the latter with somewhat longer teeth than he had ever seen on Jackalman.

"They once called Thundera home as well," Leoran said as he came alongside the current king. "The conflicts with them were bloody, brutal, especially after we asked them to join with us."

"And they wanted to be on top instead of part of the whole," Lion-O spat. "Typical."

"Not entirely," Leoran said much to Lion-O's surprise. "They saw the once-fractured clans uniting under a common banner, a single king and government, and they grew fearful. A united kingdom was a grave threat in their eyes, and fairly so." The ground fell away from their feet with no sense of accelleration or movement at all, revealing a massed army of Thunderians (as I know them, he thought) forming a skirmish line. Spear and swordsmen stood ready, archers behind them for long-range fire support. "Their clans were drowned with petty conflicts and rivalries. The only thing their leaders agreed upon was that the growing Thunderian kingdom would one day usurp them all." Leoran sighed tiredly. Lion-O spared a glance to find the avatar slumped as though exhausted. "They struck us first," he began again, "in outlying settlements and newly-established villages, murdering and raping their way through any cats who got in their way before squabbling over who would divvy up the spoils in what way."

"Bastards."

"The delegation I sent just before the attacks never returned. I have no idea what really befell them, but it matters not," Leoran went on. Still the armies beneath their feet remained frozen. "This was the first major test of our nascent kingdom and alliance among the clans. If we couldn't protect what we were building, clans would pull out and the dream would collapse. We... I... could not let that happen."

"Sometimes there's no choice but war," Lion-O said, having learned that lesson himself. "Especially when the other side doesn't give you one." Without warning, the frozen warriors below surged toward each other. Arrows and swords engaged with clubs and axes, and Lion-O saw that while the Thunderians were better armed and disciplined, the Mutants had greater numbers.

Far greater.

"They were brutes, but they were also numerous," Leoran said as the battle played out in quick time. "The only way we would carry the day was if I stepped in myself."

Thor Svenson stalked through the antiseptic corridors of the lower levels of the Grey Penal Planet (God, what a name, he thought idly,) behind Chief Researcher Banes. His adjutant, Sif, walked beside him in crisp, even steps, her skirt barely swishing with the movements of her hard legs encased in sheer hosiery. He turned his gaze back to Banes, whose long grey hair hung in oily straggles down to his shoulders. Svenson didn't allow his face to betray his disdain of the scientist leading this procession as they neared the airlock doors of what the staff called "Frankenstien's Lab".

"It'll take a few moments for the pressure in the airlock to equalize with the corridor," Banes said with a nervous shrug of his shoulders. He turned to face them, his angular face gaunt in the unforgiving lights. Dark shadows loomed beneath his bright eyes with a layer of black stubble on his chin. The white jumpsuit he wore beneath his stained coat hung loose on his bony frame, ringlets of sweat staining the armpits and neckline. "Our first stop is the frame assembly for the limbs." The yellow light above the double doors clicked to green and all three stepped in. Cold antiseptic air blasted about them. "THIS IS TO KILL ANY EXTERIOR CONTAMINANTS," Banes shouted. "WE CAN'T HAVE ANY FORIEGN MATERIALS COMING IN HERE!" The first cycle ended, followed by a gridwork of cobalt blue beams which circled about their bodies on contatct. Banes activated a panel on the wall, removing packets of gloves and breathing masks for all. "This is an ultra-clean environment," Banes went on. "Keep the masks and gloves on at all times."

"Understood," Thorson said, even after having undergone an extensive briefing. Banes was covering his ass, and as well he should. The chamber beyond was another study in white, sundry equipment racks standing bare. Some few still held limbs, mostly legs.

"We're still calibrating the limbs," Banes said in his nervous lilt of a voice. Thorson walked over to a feminine-looking arm, wrapped in coils of blue metallic fibres much like muscles. "The metal is a total breakthrough. It acts in the same manner as organic muscle, with the strength of a micro-pulley. I'm talking five throusand PSI of force just in the fingers."

"So, I don't want to shake its hand?" Sif asked.

"I'd advise against that," Banes replied. "One of the staff, in a bid for levity, attempted the ancient 'Pull My Finger' joke with this arm. We were able to staunch the blood loss before the medical team arrived, but the finger was a total loss." Banes then wiped his glasses on his sleeve. "On a more positive note, it convinced others to keep from placing... other appendages... in these constructs." Silence reigned for several moments as he and Sif looked at Banes with incredulous eyes. As though sensing the scrutiny, he shrank on himself. "We, ah, don't get out much."

"Noted," he and Sif said simultaneously.

Sho raised his head from the book as Myrlha's arms encircled him from behind. He breathed in her scent, the jasmine soap she so loved to use in the bath prevalent, as she entwined her body with his.

"Missed you in there," she said teasingly, resting her chin on his shoulder. From the corners of his eyes he saw her shoulders were both dotted with residual drops of water and bare. He didn't need to turn to know that the towel was all she was wearing. "Learn anything so far?" she asked in a more serious tone. Sho knew her eyes were scanning the written kanji characters on the page, and recognizing the few dozen he had taught her of the nearly three thousand that had existed. No one in the Japan of his past had known absolutely all of them, and it pained him slightly that a goodly chunk of that style of writing was lost. Fortunately for him, the writer of the book largely stuck to the hirigana characters more familiar to a Japanese man of his era.

"I remember some of what happened," he said, reaching an arm behind his head to run his fingers through her damp hair, "and some of it matches with what I've read. But... But most of this is wrong, somehow." He narrowed his eyes, all but glaring at the book. "When I first woke up, I heard a voice in my head that I didn't recognize. It kept telling me to come to it, that it wanted to help."

"And since Lisker was still out of the picture at the time," Myrlha supplied, "that must have been this third Guyver."

"Agito." The name brought up feelings of betrayal, though Sho could not recall exactly why. "He's been active all this time. What has he been up to?"

"Waiting for you, if I had to guess," Myrlha said. "He must have known you'd make an encore."

"I have something he wants, or he thinks I do," Sho said. One of her arms slid down to the open book, a finger trailing down a set of characters.

"What's this 'Gigantic'?" she asked.

"According to the book, it's something he had," Sho replied. A brief flash of the shape from his dreams, the ovoid structure, appeared in his mind before vanishing into the dark once more. "I'm not sure what it is, but I'm certain this book's lying about most of it." With a frustrated sigh, he slammed the book shut. "This damn thing isn't much help at all." Myrlha eased into his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck and confriming his earlier assessment of her attire.

"At least you filled in some blank spots," she said. "That's something." Sho slid his arms about her waist, while desire waged gurrella warfare against nearly every rational aspect of his mind. Their relationship had been wonderful thus far, especially considering that she had waited twenty years for him in that horrid alternate future that now would never come to pass. He hoped.

"There's so much I don't understand," he said. "This damn thing is almost no help at all."

"Are you sure about that?" Myrlha asked. "The best lies have some grain of truth."

"Cheetara wants a preliminary report on what's in there by sundown," Sho replied. "Not looking forward to telling her that I think it's mostly bullshit and I don't know why."

Lion-O could only watch as the army of Thunderians collided with the hordes of Mutants. Cries of battle and agony rent the air as the front lines of the Mutants fell to the barrage of arrows. The battle was joined up close, men and women fighting and dying, their blood staining the dirt beneath.

"Our discipline was better," Leoran said, "but their numbers were far higher. At best, it would have been a battle of attrition that we could not win." His gaze was drawn to a promontory high above the killing fields, where another Leoran stepped to the edge weilding the Sword of Omens. Far below, this second Leoran raised the blade skyward.

The sky darkened, black clouds blocking the sun and crackling with energy that felt almost alive. The Leoran below unleashed a mighty cry, thrusting the Sword's tip skyward. The result was as immediate as it was horrific. Bolts of lightning hammered the ground among the Mutant ranks, scattering those they did not kill outright. Far more intense than any storm Lion-O had seen, these jagged lances of light and energy struck with abandon and furious will. Wind rose from the summoned storm, forming funnels that touched down amid the ranks of Mutants in the rear and tore them limb from limb as it blasted them outward or sucked them up. He was paralyzed with horror as the wrath of nature was unleashed upon those who stood against his ancestors, ripping and tearing and smashing flat those who had taken up arms against them.

"By the gods..." He could not tear his gaze from the unholy carnage that rapidly unfolded before him.

"In the aftermath," Leoran said as the maelstrom began to abate, "I realized just how much power the Eye, whatever the hell it is, could bestow. I knew that those who ascended the throne after me could mis-use it, even worse than I did. Its power, son, could become our weakness. What saved the day here could be used to bring our own kingdom to ruin." The massed Thunderians far below cast their eyes about, all sooner or later locking onto the form of Leoran as he held the Sword skyward. The blade glowed a deep azure as the other Leoran's face became frozen in horror. "I still don't know what happened next. Maybe the Eye took something from my subconscious as a command." A massive burst radiated outward from the blade just before their view became that of the planet itself as it coursed over the surface of what had once been Thundera.

"What did you do...?" he asked through a parched throat.

"I'm not sure how, but I banished all sapient life that was not feline from our world. All I can tell you on that score is that after this battle, only we were left."

"The Mutants had to have remembered that," Lion-O said. "This is how the war started. They found us again."

"Likely," Leoran's avatar said as the scene changed once more. The walls were of smooth stone blocks with a window admitting the light of the waning moon. The other Leoran sat atop his bed, crosslegged with the Sword in his hands. "I knew the power of the Eye needed to be checked. By now, I had taken a mate and my heir was well on his way to being born. I could not let that kind of power darken future generations of kings. I merged my will with the Eye, and set restrictions on its power." Before them, the other image of Leoran began to glow a faint azure, motes of brilliant white darting between the Sword in his lap and his sitting form. "The result was that future kings could not control such awesome power, and that I could no longer commune with it."

"You lost the ability to use it?"

"Yes. Fortunately, this did not apply to my descendants." Nara, the Jaguar female from earlier, stepped into the room naked. Her round stomach told the tale of pregnancy. "She became my lover along as well as my most trusted advisor. With our bloodlines merged, however briefly, Lion became the weilders of the Sword, while Jaguar its keepers. Possession of the Sword would change clans, depending on how well the king could rule. Many monarchs never so much as laid eyes on it while others could use its power within the limitations I first put upon it." The image faded to black, leaving them floating in limbo.

"What's so special about me?"

"You are the first king in our recorded history to satisfy the conditions I put in place for unsealing the Eye's full power," Leoran said as he paced to stand in front of Lion-O. The smaller king looked up into the eyes of the larger, his descendant by thousands of years. "I knew that power would be needed again, and I had to take steps to make sure it would never be mis-used. You have no idea what kind of might that blade can truly bestow upon you."

"I won't abuse it..."

"That's not the point," Leoran said. "Anyone can SAY they'd never abuse power, but how many could really resist? The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Leoran placed his arms behind his back before taking a few steps away. Lion-O floated in the endless night, his mind assailed with what he had seen.

"You were right to put limits on that power," he said at length, "but what limits did you place on it?"

"Ah, an excellent question," Leoran's avatar replied. "As many as I thought prudent. Your own bloodline ensured you, and those who came before you, COULD call upon the full power of the Eye if needed, but only your own experiences could determine if you should. From the moment your hands first touched the Sword, the Eye read you. It determined that, like all the others, you had the right to wield it and the potential to unlock it. Over the years, it has watched you and it has deemed you worthy. You have passed test after test, even with the disadvantage you suffered upon landing on Third Earth."

"Being a boy in a man's body."

"Yes! You have overcome trials unlike any your ancestors faced. But, you face far worse. Come, there is more yet for you to see."

"A dual-layered system," Panthro said as he beheld yet another set of schematics and equations from the data files Sho had brought back from an alternate future. A matter/antimatter power generator mated with a device that could bore holes into different layers of space-time. The extent of the distortion effect determined just how far one could go in real space-time... Panthro shook his head at the thought. The range of such a system was still limited, but those limits were ridiculously far off when compared to normal space travel. Even so, he mused, contruction of such a ship was still something of a pipe dream. He sat at the small round table between his bed and the window which let in the increasingly fiery light of the coming sunset, the surface tinted to reduce glare. A steaming mug of coffee rested near his right hand while he stroked his chin with the left. It wasn't merely travel through warped space as he'd thought at the beginning. Though the design was more advanced than anything Thunderian science had ever produced, he felt there was room for refinement the more he studied the schematics before him. The door chime sounded and snapped him out of his contemplations. "Come," he said curtly. The door opened to reveal Seres Mandora and any dismissals and rebukes died on his lips.

"Hey," she said, walking over to him with a sway to her hips Panthro swore he was imagining. "I hope I'm not interrupting you."

"Nah," he replied with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "I needed a break." He powered down the terminal as she came closer to take a seat on the edge of his bed.

"I applied for citizenship," she said, her voice awkward and nervous.

"Glad to hear it," Panthro said, grateful for the chance to bring something else up. "I was meaning to ask if you wanted a spot in the Royal Guard." Mandora arched an eyebrow in response. "In a training role, really. The recruits are eager, but green."

"I'd like that," she said with a slow smile. "Maybe make a positive difference. You sure they won't mind a human putting them through their paces?"

"By now, everyone knows about what you did for us," Panthro replied. "You might have to bring one or two down to size, though." Mandora shifted atop the bed linen, crossing one leg over the other in a move Panthro couldn't help up watch. The nervousness was back, he saw, and he felt it as well.

"Thank you," she said, "for everything." Before he could speak, Mandora lunged forward and planted her lips on his. The kiss was slow, timid at first, then resistance melted away between them. Of their own accord, Panthro's arms crossed her back, hands tracing the lines of muscle beneath her tunic until his fingers trailed through her honey-blonde hair. Her own hands rested against his chest, exploring every valley between his battle-sculpted muscles. His resistance melted away as quickly as her nervousness and both were lost in the bliss of their joined lips. They parted, gasping, feelings Panthro had not felt in years making up for lost time in his nerves and his blood.

"It's... been a long time for me..." he said, his voice thickened by desires long thought buried. Mandora eased into his lap, her chest heaving as heavily as his. Which drew no shortage of attention from him.

"For me, it's always been just... an urge to satisfy from time to time," Mandora replied. "Just... a need. Nothing like this. Panthro..."

For his part, he didn't hesitate, locking his lips with hers again. He felt her hands slide beneath the spiked suspenders of his uniform, sliding them down his shoulders while her fingers carressed his arms.

"You're so beautiful," he said once their second kiss broke. So strong, he thought, yet so soft.

"I..." Mandora's words caught in her throat as she beheld the wide planes of Panthro's upper body. No man had ever evoked such feelings in her. The ones she'd bedded before had been just flings when her drives had been wilder than usual. On this world, though, with this man, she felt what she had always heard of but never thought possible. She ran her hands over him again, the fire in her core burning hotter and hotter. Her eyes locked onto his, and resistance vanished for both of them as she guided his hands to the seal at the upper rear of her suit. Her breasts bounced free from the form-fitting material just before she attacked his torso with a hail of kisses. There was no need for words as she worked her way down his body, both understanding and trusting the other.

Per Banes' instructions, he remained well within the yellow-painted walkway that bordered the main assembly area though he did not shy away from the sight of them suspended in the nutrient-rich baths within their tanks despite his rising horror. Each one floated within a tube of viscous fluid, raw meat and tubes all that remained of what was once soldiers under his command. Tiny motes crawled over flesh that should never have been exposed, inserting proboscii here and there into bare muscle tissue and traversing exposed blood vessels. Sven Thorson had seen horrific wounds in his tenure as a soldier, but this...

"How can they be alive?" Sif whispered.

"With the best life-support systems money can buy," Banes replied. "The med-bots you see are prepping them for attachment of their new... well... everything, really." Banes moved on, Sven and Sif only too glad to take their eyes off of the horrible tableaux. "On attachment, we'll synch their nervous systems up to the prosthetics. That won't be difficult, it's the same as attaching a limb only on a larger scale. Synthetic lattices have already been placed about surviving major organs via med-bots and are functioning independently. Afterward, we only have to install and activate the lattices for their brains. That, as you know, is the tricky part." Heavy air-tight doors slid open to reveal another airlock. The same beams from before laid a gridwork on their bodies before allowing them to pass. Sven nearly gaped at the tank in the center of the next room. Clear plexiglass meters wide contained a slightly bubbling soup of what looked to be dark red blood. Around its base were several monitor stations, each manned by a technician in a clean white overcoat. "Stay within the containment field, please," Banes said as the doors shut behind them.

"What the hell is that?" Sif asked before he could.

"One of the pride and joys this program has made possible," Banes replied. "It looks like blood, and serves many of the same uses, but what you're seeing is the most advanced experimental decentralized diagnostic systems ever made." The pride in Banes' voice seemed inappropriate to the overall macabre atmosphere. Sven had the brief thought that his SilverHawks might already be tainted. He shook it off without an outward sign.

"How does it work?"

"Primarily, it serves as a cooling system..."

"Then why is it bubbling?" Sif asked.

"The mixture has to be heated to promote the mass growth of the nanomachine colonies within," Banes explained as if to a slow child. "Once saturation goals are met, it can be cooled to normal temperatures. Once portioned off, the nanomachines can replicate themselves normally." He reached into a pocket of his coat and produced a datapadd which displayed a three-dimensiona image of a colony of said nanomachines replicating themselves. "As of now, they're replicating like mad. Once the mixture is cooled, we can segment colonies of them for specific tasks. The heat generated by the SilverHawk's own internal systems will provide all the energy they need to reproduce."

"How exactly will this work?"

"Ah, glad you asked." Banes deactivated the display. "The... blood for want of a better term... will act as a primary coolant, absorbing heat from their systems and using it to promote nanomachine growth. The nanos themseles will serve numerous functions."

"Such as?" Sif asked, her face losing the slightly greenish tint it had taken on earlier.

"Like I said, it is a decentralized diagnostic and repair system. The nanos in the mixture are extensions of several cyberware systems we'll install in their brains. Some will interrogate stuructural integrity, others software, and yet more will be converted in order to make repairs. The vast majority, though, will be dedicated to preserving their organics by way of processing oxygen and nutrients from the simple paste they'll consume as food."

"To support their organics," Sven said.

"Exactly. The nanos can't create organic matter. The paste is simply a mixture of protiens and nutrients."

"What about control?" Sif asked a mere second before he could.

"I like to save the best for last," Banes said. "Right this way."

"Well, that's the grand tour," Leoran said as they trod along a corridor of chisled stone. Their footfalls echoed in the empty space, devoid of all decoration save torches in iron sconces. "That is how our kingdom began."

"There has to be more!" Lion-O protested.

"Plenty more," Leoran replied calmly, walking with his hands clasped behind his back. "None of which is relevant to why you are here. Son, I know you want to learn what happened to Thundera, about the lives of kings who ruled between myself and you. There is a danger in gathering that knowledge."

"And that is?"

"You would spend all your time in here, not out there," Leoran replied with a vague gesture of his hand. "There is where you are needed. The Book is yours as a guide, to be used only when all else fails. Think about it. If all our kings tried to find answers in the past, we would never have looked to the future."

"But..."

"I know, you want to learn how Thundera was destroyed. That doesn't matter right now. You have a future to prepare for, son. That future is why the Book let you interact with me. With the limits I placed on the Eye, did you really think I wouldn't put any on the Book? These artifacts represent untold power, and you know how power can corrupt."

"You're right." Lion-O said, irritated.

"One day, you may find those answers, but not today. Here we are." Lion-O looked ahead to find a great wooden set of double doors hanging in a void just beyond where the corridor ended in nothingness. "Beyond those doors, you will find what you came here for. I should tell you, though, you will remember none of what you experience beyond them."

"Then why..."

"You will know when the time comes," Leoran said. "Entering those doors will expose you to a link to the Core, which will imprint on your brain what is needed to unleash the full power of the Eye. The knowledge alone is not enough. You will know when you must use that power. Once that happens, well, all bets are off." Leoran circled in front of Lion-O, placing his hands on the latter's bicepts. "You are the only king since myself who has ever had access to this power. Use it well."

"I will," Lion-O said somberly. "Will I see you again?"

"No," Leoran said with a sad shake of his head. "My entire purpose here was to wait for you. Now that you have come, I have no need to remain any longer. This image of Leoran will fade into the stream of time. Oh, don't look so sad," he said, "I am not Leoran. I have served my purpose. The path is yours to walk. But, I have enough of the original in me to wish you the best." Leoran's avatar faded, lost to the mists of time, and Lion-O wrenched open the door.


End file.
